


Trials of Tyria

by Pipann



Category: Astérix et Obélix | Asterix & Obelix (Animated Movies), Astérix le Gaulois | Asterix the Gaul & Related Fandoms, Guild Wars 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Cannot add more tags due to spoilers, Drama, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 23
Words: 97,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27453427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pipann/pseuds/Pipann
Summary: After unbelievable and devastating events, Asterix finds himself stranded in Tyria; a world filled with magic, advanced technology, fantastic creatures, and primordial, destructive dragons. An Asterix/Guild Wars 2 cross-over. Rated T for blood, violence and death.
Kudos: 1





	1. Strange Beginnings

**_\----------------------------------------------------------------------_ **

**_Author's notes to you, the reader:_ **

**_Asterix and the comic franchise are © to Albert Uderzo & René Goscinny_ **

**_Guild Wars and its game franchise are © to Arenanet_ **

**_I do not own any of the characters. Most of the Tyrian characters in this fiction were made up on the fly, and therefore relations/similarities with existing Non-Player and Player characters are purely coincidental. (of course, there are exceptions)_ **

**_This fiction takes Asterix as the main character, as he discovers and experiences the vast world of Tyria on his own as he adapts to it, makes allies and enemies, and takes on some of the threats that loom over this beautiful, mysterious world._ **

**_Being an MMORPG, the world of Guild Wars 2 has a lot of lore and history in it, and as such, there will be many descriptive references to it in the fiction. People who play the game will find themselves recognizing and remembering those, but as a reader, they are meant to experience it like the main character does: delving into the unknown, danger constantly lurking._ **

**_Opposingly, even though some of you who play the game may be reading this, not many will know about the french comic Asterix the Gaul and the history/lore revolving the franchise. And so, I make sure when anything historical and traditions/beliefs around the franchise are mentioned, that they are accompanied with an asterisk (*) and that at the end of each chapter, they will be described to you accordingly._ **

**_Due to the nature of the game, this story will contain blood, violence, and death (oh my!) It may contain use of alcohol in future chapters. Nothing too serious, but it can get a little intense from time to time. If you're not comfortable with these ratings, you can back out at any time. I won't judge._ **

**_Closing off, I would like to mention special thanks to Zeragii for being my first-draft reviewer in this!_ ** **_Please read, enjoy, and review!_**

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

“Test: one, two, three. Test: one, two, three.”

Clawed, four-fingered hands tapped on a red, holographic display. It showed buttons, texts that were illegible, diagrams and bars. For the normal mind, this would be impossible to decipher, yet the silhouette of the short figure stood before it, its fingers dancing along the screen as if it were child’s play.

“Ready to deploy the meta-necromatic charge?” another silhouette standing beside the first figure asked. It was maybe a few inches taller than the other. Its voice was rather high-pitched, but it was clearly that of a male.

“Nearly. We have to make sure he is ready first. Can’t be too careful, you know,” the first one answered. This voice had a hint of feminine touch in it.

“Hey, you two. Status report,” the taller one called out to two other figures, standing near a cryotube filled with glowing crimson liquid. The silhouette of a lifeless body was submerged within it, held in place with various kinds of equipment. The two figures who were monitoring the status of the object raised their large, almost rabbit-like ears, that normally lopped from either side of their ellipsoid heads. They were dressed in red and black, much like their tools and machinery. Large wide eyes, once evolved to see well in darkness, glanced up to their superior.

“Everything is in place, sir,” one of the two creatures called to him, giving him the thumbs-up.

“Start the meta-necromatic module,” the leader commanded.

“Booting meta-necromatic module,” the female repeated after him. A light humming noise filled the dark room.

“Hydraulic fusion-primer at 70%. 95%. 100%. Activating primer,” she said, as she read the lines on her display out loud, fingers continually tapping buttons on the screen.

“Macro-transfuser at full, ready to deploy meta-necromatic charge.” The girl glanced up at their test subject. “On your order, sir.”

The leader had kept his bright-yellow eyes on the body suspended in the unclear liquid all along. This is it, this is the day that the Inquest will prevail. No, that _he_ will prevail! All those egotistical loudmouths that talked his theories back will see. They all will see. He is a genius! His smile turned into a grin, and his shark-like teeth glinted.

“Activate,” he hissed under his breath.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

_GAH!_

A shock of pain ran through his entire body, coursing through his veins and bones as though lightning had struck him. He could hear and feel it thumping and thrumming, but this kind of pain was different. It felt like there was an earthquake inside of him, every tremor stirring something that should be sleeping. First, it was his mind that shook awake. It was all a blur, but something told him he was close to dying.

The next shock awakened his heart, thumping desperately in an attempt to pump blood through his body. The noise it made echoed in his head, crying out. _Breathe! You have to breathe!_

Another shock. His eyes sprang open, but it showed him nothing. _Breathe! Breathe!_ He opened his mouth, trying to gasp for air, but there was none. Bubbles of air escaped him. It was only now that he realized he was somehow underwater. His mind panicked. _Gods! I’m going to die!_

He heard the muffled sound of voices yelling out, but he couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. His mind clouded, the voices around him grew silent once more. He felt something tugging at him and pulling him out of the water. But it was too late... his mind slipped back into oblivion.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

The first sound he heard since that moment were footsteps, pattering closer and closer. He laid perfectly still, waiting for his mind to clear up. Then he heard the scratching sound of a chair being pulled up beside him, and then, a voice. It was unlike any other he’d heard. It sounded blurry and vague first, but then, slowly, he could make out words.

“...reathing...puls...stable...”

He wanted to take in a deep breath, but instead he sputtered and coughed roughly. It hurt so much that he pressed his eyes shut even further than they had been before. The figure sitting next to him jumped in shock, staring at him quietly for a few moments before rushing back and prying one of his eyes open with its dry, sandpaper-like fingers. A bright flash of light shone into the eye, its pupil forcibly pinching itself as tiny as possible. He squinted and tried to raise a hand and swat the invader off, but found that he had a hard time doing so. He didn’t care if, whoever it was, was a friend or foe. He just wanted to be left alone.

“State your name,” a girly voice commanded.

There was no response that came back.

“State your name!” This time the voice was higher-pitched and more demanding than before.

“..A...Asterix...” he panted, forcing himself to say his own name. He carefully opened his eyes, trying to see who was talking to him, but his vision was not itself still. All he saw was a dimly lit area, and a grey blur with large, baby-blue eyes before him, watching his every move.

The figure blinked and looked down at something she held in her hand. She started to squeak gleefully. “I think we might have succeeded here. I’ll go tell our krewe leader. He’ll be so excited to see you!” Without giving him a chance to ask questions, the blur swiftly moved out of his sight. He heard footsteps, this time running away. He was alone again.

The man, of which he were 100% sure his name was Asterix, sat himself up carefully from, he thinks a bed, while his vision slowly refocused. He winced a little, feeling the skin of his arm being tugged at. He shifted his bleared gaze down at the location, and to his horror, found a long thin worm-like parasite buried deep into his skin. Scared half to death, he yelped and grabbed hold of the attacker, yanking it out immediately. The worm popped loose, making him flinch painfully and throw it away as far as he could, hoping it would hit a wall, but it didn’t go far. The creature flopped down on the floor and just laid there, unmoving.

Trembling uncontrollably, he dropped himself back into the bed and pressed his eyes shut. When he had finally calmed down, he realized that something warm was oozing down from his arm. Knowing what it meant, he forced himself to look at the damage he’d done to himself. His blood, at least, he thought it was blood, trickled slowly from the small injury. And either his eyes were deceiving him, or the fluid seemed...different. It was still dark crimson, but somehow it had this odd tint of some silvery hue mixed in it, glistening when he let the dim lights shine on it _just_ right. He looked down at the ‘parasite’ that had attacked him. Now that his eyes were a little more focused, he started to realize it wasn’t alive at all. It wasn’t a parasite, but a tube, rather, at least a couple of feet long. Water dripped slowly from its mouth. It appeared to be attached to a box-shaped device that was all but understandable to him. _What’s going on?_

He stared soullessly in front of himself for a good ten minutes. He had so many questions flying in his mind. Who or what was that person just now? And what the heck was that thing attached to him? What did it do? Did it keep him hydrated, maybe? When he finally felt that his vision had sharpened enough, he started looking around. The interior of the small room was blocky, symmetric even. The walls, ceiling and even the floor were cleanly carved from a dark rock. Here and there, a red glowing line crossed the surface, patterning across the floor and lighting the room dimly; it was barely enough to see. He looked down and found himself sitting on a small bed; small even for someone his size, but just big enough. There was nothing else, but a sink in one corner, and a large doorway, appearing to be blocked by a red-stained, glowing glass panel. He looked down again, noting that he still wore the red breeches and black tunic he was familiar with, though the latter had holes in it. His green belt was missing, as well as the sword and scabbard, and his brown gourd he knew so well.

But... From what again?

Wait a minute, yes, he remembers now! He’s Asterix; one of the indomitable Gauls! That one small village of Gauls that have resisted the iron fist of Caesar for so many years, thanks to the magic potion brewed by their druid. How could he forget? And how did he get here, and where is ‘here’?

He tried hard to remember, but then it all slowly came back to him...

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

_The year is 50 BC. Gaul is entirely occupied by the Romans. Well, not entirely... One small village of indomitable Gauls still holds out against the invaders. And life is not easy for the Roman legionaries who garrison the fortified camps of Totorum, Aquarium, Laudanum and Compendium..._

It was just another peaceful day in the village. Fulliautomatix, the blacksmith, was hammering away at his anvil. Unhygienix, the fishmonger, was selling ‘fresh’ fish imported from Lutetia ***** again, while his wife Bacteria helped him by packing the customers’ purchases. Cacofonix, the bard, sat at the edge of his tree hut, humming a (un)pleasant melody and fine-tuning his lyre, much to the annoyance of the villagers who passed his tree. Mr. and Mrs. Geriatrix were making a lovely stroll through the village together. Their ages differed dramatically, but hey, to each their own, right? Chief Vitalstatistix’s wife, Impedimenta, was tending her little garden at the front of their hut. The Chief himself? Probably sleeping with his feet in his foot bath again.

The weather was simply perfect. So warm and filled with blooming fragrances. Some of the villagers would be annoyed by this kind of weather, due to their hay fever kicking in. It was spring, after all. But the blonde Gaul known as Asterix didn’t mind. This winter was one of the coldest they’d ever experienced. Some of the villagers had even caught a pretty severe flu. They were bedridden for several weeks. If it hadn’t been for the loving care of the rest of the villagers, and the professional handling of their good druid, Getafix, things might not have turned out so well for them. He was glad they all recovered fully in the end.

The short Gaul heaved a slow sigh, munching on the straw of grass he’d picked. He just finished making his rounds through the forest, keeping an eye out for mischief from the Romans. While the villagers were perfectly capable of defending themselves, thanks to Getafix’s magic potion (which gave anyone who consumed it super human strength for a short period of time), Asterix was the only warrior of the village, and it was his duty to keep a watchful eye and engage the enemy, or warn his people, when the situation called. But now, everything was fine; he had laid himself on the bench at his own hut, basking in the sun. Yes, it was a beautiful day.

Suddenly, something large moved itself between Asterix and the sun. He frowned a bit, feeling a light chill run over his skin. He opened one eye, beholding the silhouette of a very tall, egg-shaped form.

“Shouldn’t you be delivering that menhir, Obelix?” he muttered.

“Yeah, but if I deliver it right now, it’ll be too soon,” the giant Gaul known as Obelix replied. He stood at six feet and a half; a (very) well-fed character with short, bright-red hair and a mustache. He had one long braid hanging from each side of his head, ending in a little black bowtie. He wore breeches, which had white and light-blue stripes running down vertically, a green belt with golden ornaments, and a pair of leather shoes. He carried an enormous, tall stone, also known as a menhir, on his back. It was nearly twice his own length, and he was keeping it balanced on his back using only his bare hands. The reason he could hold the heavy boulder so easily lied in the fact that he once fell into a cauldron full of magic potion when he was a little boy, and since that moment it had never shown signs of wearing off.

Asterix himself was short for a human. It ran in the family. But compared to Obelix, he was especially small. He could only reach half Obelix’s length, and only if one counted the white wings on his helmet. Yet he wasn’t the smallest; next to Obelix was their tiniest companion: Dogmatix. He was a white terrier, dotted with black tips on the ears and tail. The animal was so small you could easily fit him in your hand. And when he barked, they would sound like tiny puppy yips.

Asterix smiled and sat up. “Really? I thought delivering a package early was a good thing.”

The menhir delivery-man shifted his weight to free one hand and wag a finger. “Oh no, Mister Asterix,” he corrected. “Menhirs have to be delivered right on cue. It’s delicate and precise work, and I have a reputation to keep!”

Asterix decided to play along. “Is that so?” He ran a hand through his blonde mustache, fiddling with it like he always did when deep in thought. He then glanced up and shot a smile at his friend. “What are you planning to do with the time you can spend then? You didn’t come here for no reason, or did you?”

Obelix placed his menhir down carefully, pressing it into the ground lightly so to make sure it would not fall over. “Well,” he began, “it’s late noon, and lunch is overdue. And when I finished carving this menhir, I went to check my meat stock, but I found that it was empty again.”

“So I’m guessing you want to ask me to come along on a hunt?”

“Well, if you’re up to it,” Obelix smiled back.

“Sure!” The little Gaul jumped up from the bench, dusting his black sleeveless tunic a bit. “I’m always up for that. Nothing like hunting some wild boars to get a good rush out of.” As Asterix walked past him, he playfully elbowed Obelix in the side, not that it could hurt the hulk of a Gaul anyway.

Obelix began to lick his lips. Wild boar would surely hit the spot. He immediately followed Asterix to the woods, forgetting about the menhir that stood alone in front of Asterix’s hut. Dogmatix trailed behind the two closely.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

_In the fortified Roman camp Laudanum..._

“Avé, Centurion,” the Optio called out to Centurion Dolorous as he walked into his tent. There was a grin from ear to ear on his face. The Centurion could not stand that look, because he and his men had been putting up with the neighboring Gauls’ abuse and humiliation for almost half a year now.

“Avé,” Dolorous replied, disgruntled. He did not look away from his helmet on the table, tapping his finger at it almost casually. “What do you want?”

The Optio piped up, “I’ve got great news, O Centurion! The relief has arrived!”

Centurion Dolorous couldn’t believe what he was hearing! He jumped up from his seat immediately. “At last,” he exclaimed. “We can finally get away from these insane Gauls! Tell the legionaries to pack up! We’re getting out of here as soon as I’ve informed the new arrivals properly.”

“Yes, Sir!”

The entrée of the new Roman century was no joke. The new Centurion walked proudly at the front, followed by his Optiones, and behind them, an army of eighty legionaries, aligned in rows of four, perfectly synchronized in their march. One could smell the discipline wafting from them. Their armor was new, dent and scratch free, and it shined in the sunlight like an ocean at eve.

The new Centurion bellowed. “HALT!” With a perfectly timed thump of their feet, the army came to a complete still.

Centurion Dolorous walked up to his colleague, raising his hand in a Roman-style army greet. “Avé. Centurion Dolorous reporting.”

“Avé,” the other shouted back, his face was as stern as a rock, yet he returned the gesture. “Centurion Subordinus! We are here to relieve you from your duty!”

“Yes, yes, that’s great.” Dolorous muttered. “Just to give you a fair warning, though. Try not to engage into any combat with the Gauls around here. You won’t know what you’re getting yourself into! They’re deranged barbarians. What’s more, they are _invincible_! You can’t hope to defeat them, so just lay low and...”

Centurion Subordinus roared with laughter at Dolorous. “HA! Invincible!? That’s one I didn’t hear before! We came here to fight in glorious battles! To conquer these _deranged_ barbarians! And that’s exactly what we’ll do, isn’t that right, boys?”

The army of legionaries behind him shouted out in a symphonious victory cry. Dolorous sighed. He could almost smell the irony of this déjà vu. This was just like when he first came to the camp, ignorant and unwilling to heed the Centurion’s warnings before him. It was obvious these ignoramuses were not going to listen. “Suit yourself. I warned you.” he replied dully. At least he could leave this place. Anything would be better than to stay here with the indomitable Gauls! Preferably he would get out of the Roman province, most preferably as far away as possible. Perhaps Caesar will send him to Egypt.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

Later that afternoon, after the old century had departed, Centurion Subordinus was already preparing for the oncoming battle. He had even sent a Roman patrol into the forest to gather information about his enemy. He studied every strategy he had, so deep in thought that the Optio behind him had to call him thrice.

“Avé, Centurion. Centurion? Centurion!”

Subordinus suddenly perked up and turned his head sharply. “What!? Can’t you see I’m concentrating?”

“Y-yes, but, O Centurion,” the Optio uttered, “the patrol has returned.”

Subordinus stared at the Optio. “So soon? The village must be closer than I thought.” he grinned, getting up from his seat and walking out of the tent to greet the brave soldiers. But what he saw was not what he expected.

“Avé, Centurion...”

The group of six, pummeled legionaries greeted their superior. They were bruised on eyes and limbs, their armor was battered. One of them was missing teeth. Another had to use a big stick as a crutch to limp back to the camp. One of the smaller soldiers poked at a loose tooth, accidently making the thing drop out of his mouth.

“BY JUNO,” Centurion Subordinus roared, taken by complete surprise, “What happened!?”

“O Fenturion,” the small one answered, “We were ambufhed by Gaulf!”

Subordinus couldn’t believe his ears. The Gauls would dare to attack six fully armed legionaries, without thinking of the consequences? They were deranged barbarians, indeed! “WHAT!?” he bellowed, “How many were there?”

“Well,” one other legionary with an overbite as obvious as a circus parade spoke up, “There were just two... A little one, and a really big fat one...”

“But they also had a very vicious dog. So it was three, really.” another piped up.

“Two miserable Gauls and a dog, against six top-of-the-line Roman legionaries!?” Subordinus cried out, “That’s it! We will show these fools who’s boss around here. Everybody prepare for a glorious battle! We will raze their village to the ground!”

“But Fir,” the little legionary spoke up, “What about uf?”

Subordinus looked at the miserable six. “Get yourself patched at the field hospital.” he commanded. “And then join the assault immediately!”

“Yes, Centurion...” the legionaries groaned.

“Two Gauls and a dog... Pathetic!” Subordinus muttered, and he re-entered his tent to fetch his helm and cape.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, outside the village of the Gauls, Asterix and Obelix were just leaving the forest. Their hunt had been a successful one; Obelix had one dead wild boar in each of his arms, and Asterix carried one over his shoulders. It seemed almost too heavy for the short Gaul to carry, but he did so with relative ease. Dogmatix trotted behind them with a shred of green cloth in his mouth.

“We had a good hunt, didn’t we, Obelix?” Asterix piped up. He loved the rush he got from hunting wild boars; and it also provided a boost to his appetite.

“Yeah, and we came across some Romans.” Obelix said cheerfully, “These were fresh ones too! The old ones were starting to get sloppy and unmotivated. Hardly any fun. We should pay them a welcoming visit!”

Asterix smirked. “Sounds like an idea! But let’s eat first. Then we can talk to the others about giving the new arrivals a warm welcome.”

But then, a low groan was heard in the sky, and not a second later, the ground began to shake. The two Gauls nearly lost their footing, waiting anxiously for the shaking to stop. It only lasted three seconds, but when it ended, Obelix felt the ground under him sink slightly, as though it were failing under his weight.

After a long moment of silence, Obelix muttered, “What was that, Asterix?”

“I...I’m not sure.” the blonde Gaul replied. “I think it was an earthquake. But those shouldn’t happen around here.”

Obelix looked down at his friend, noting that the smaller Gaul’s body was tensed. “Where do they usually happen?”

Asterix didn’t respond. He felt very uneasy about what just happened. He was having that foreboding feeling sitting in his gut; the kind that he knew all too well when something bad was going to happen.

“Asterix?”

The small warrior snapped from his trance of unease, and glanced up to Obelix. There was a distinctive look of worry in the big Gaul’s face. “Take the boars to my hut. We need to check if everybody’s all right,” he told to Obelix. And with that, they continued on, with Asterix headed straight for the village to visit their druid first, and Obelix carrying three boars to Asterix’s hut.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

_* Lutetia was a pre-Roman and Roman Gaul forerunner of present-day Paris_


	2. Upheaval

The village was in distress. They had all felt the out-of-place earthquake that had suddenly surprised them. Nearly everybody was gathered at the center of the village, in front of Chief Vitalstatistix’s hut. They muttered and gossiped, each and every one afraid of the unknown. Others were cataloguing if things were damaged, or if someone got hurt.

The earthquake itself was, thankfully, a small one. It had done little damage. Some pots and other things loose had fallen from their shelves, but nobody was injured and no buildings had collapsed. Even the menhir that was left in front of Asterix’s hut had survived the tremor, still standing firm in the ground.

When Asterix reached the center, he observed the crowd and listened; trying to discover if the druid was among them. He could easily tell by the sound of the villagers’ panicked voices, that there was nobody calming them, so Getafix was definitely not here. He overheard some of the villagers talking about the gods being displeased, while others feared the sky was going to fall; the Gauls’ only true fear. He immediately headed straight for Getafix’s hut. When he reached it shortly after crossing the small river that separated the villagers’ houses from Getafix’s own, he bashed the door open without even thinking.

“Getafix?” he called out. He held his breath, waiting anxiously for a reply. After a short moment, he got one, in the form of an annoyed groan. He wandered inside the dark hut, and when he turned to the kitchen section, he found an old, disgruntled, white-robed man sitting on the floor, with iron pans, open books, and broken earthen pots scattered around him. Spices were in his hair, and a bush of mistletoe was tangled in his long, white beard.

“By Belenos,” the druid grunted angrily as Asterix helped him up, “would you look at this mess!” The old man was a few heads taller than Asterix when he finally stood upright again. He was quite limber, for his age, the years of experience with magic and potions at his benefit.

“Is everything all right here? There was an earthquake, everybody is worried that...”

“Yes, I felt it too,” Getafix interrupted. “Though I’m not sure if it really was an earthquake.” He brushed the spices off from his half-bald scalp. “They are not a natural occurrence around here.”

“I thought the same thing, but I can’t figure out what it could have been. Do you have any ideas, O druid?” the warrior questioned, picking up pieces of broken pot work off the floor. The druid dusted his white robes. “I’m not entirely sure,” he muttered, “but we should be careful, and watch for any aftershocks. Come, I’ll clean my house later. We should calm the people instead.” Getafix said, plucking mistletoe out of his beard. “Knowing them, they’re probably causing more panic without even realizing it.”

Soon, Getafix was leaving his hut and heading to the village center, with Asterix following behind, sticking close to Getafix like a guard hound. It was like the druid had predicted; now every person, even Obelix (who longed for nothing more than his wild boar), was gathered around an uneasy Vitalstatistix, who stood on a large blue shield, which was held high above the crowd by his shield bearers. Yet the man still had trouble calming his people. His wife Impedimenta was standing on the shield with him, clutching one of his arms nervously. The only one who wasn’t in the collective circle was Cacofonix; he watched from his tree-hut quietly, listening in on what was being said.

“Calm down, every one. Calm down!” Chief Vitalstatistix said, his hands were making waving motions as to try and ease the people.

“The sky will fall on our heads!” some of the villagers cried.

“What will happen next?” the young voluptuous Mrs. Geriatrix asked, hugging her elderly husband closely.

“Now, now, friends, the sky will not fall on our heads,” Getafix reassured to the crowd out as he entered the circle to join the Chief. Asterix still remained close to him, unable to shake off the feeling of doom hanging over him. Everybody’s attention shifted to the druid. “The sky isn’t even dark, see?” He raised a finger up into the sunny sky. It was true; there was not a cloud to be seen.

Vitalstatistix cleared his throat, “Ahem, right! There is no reason to worry about the sky. But what about the earth, then?”

“What if it happens again?” Mrs. Fulliautomatix questioned, uneased. Fulliautomatix had his arm wrapped around his small wife in an attempt to comfort her. Unhygienix spoke up next: “Maybe we should move elsewhere.”

“Then make sure you’re the one moving to Lutetia, then we don’t need to smell your wares anymore,” Fulliautomatix muttered quietly. But despite that, Unhygienix heard it, and he instantly snapped back at the buff blacksmith. “Do you have something against my wares!?”

“Everybody does!” the blacksmith spat back at the fishmonger.

“Romans! I see Romans!”

Everybody turned their heads sharply toward Cacofonix, who stood at the edge of the platform that held his tree-hut. He was pointing a finger into the south-east. “There are Romans approaching! It’s a whole army!” the bard squealed. Suddenly, everybody had forgotten about the events that happened only so recently. The men eagerly started rushing to the village’s parapets, while the women coaxed their children to stay close to them, uncertain if they should go into their houses after what happened.

“Romans! How about that, Asterix,” Obelix piped up, “They are coming to pay _us_ a visit instead!” He clasped his hands together, rubbing them excitedly.

“Yeah? They picked the wrong time to be visiting,” Asterix groaned, “We have more pressing matters to deal with right now...”

A thin, firm hand placed itself on Asterix’s shoulder. Recognizing the touch, he glanced up to Getafix. “On the contrary,” the elder spoke up, “perhaps this will ease the villagers’ minds a bit. Go ahead and stall the Romans a little, while I bring out some magic potion. You know what to do.”

Asterix didn’t feel like agreeing at first, but Getafix had a point. He nodded obediently. “Come along Obelix, but keep yourself contained. We want the rest to have their share of fun too.” He untied the gourd of magic potion hanging on his belt, taking a swig of the concoction.

Obelix clapped his hands in a very child-like manner, “Oh goodie! Fresh Romans! And we didn’t even have to go to them!”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

It was on the field just outside of the village that Centurion Subordinus first met the Gauls in person. Two men, a little one, a big fat one, and their dog stood at the front of the village gate. He knew these were the ones mentioned by the patrol. The Centurion halted his soldiers, distancing himself from the two by a good two-hundred feet.

“This is it men, our time of glory.” Centurion Subordinus declared to his men. Preparing to draw his sword and signal the attacking order, he was suddenly interrupted by the little Gaul.

“Good afternoon!” he called out to the Romans, “It’s a nice day, isn’t it?”

The fat Gaul shouted after the little one finished, “We wanted to come visit to give you a warm welcome first, but then we got a little distracted! We’re really sorry about that!”

The Romans simply stared back at the two in complete puzzlement.

“By the way,” the little Gaul continued, “Did you happen to feel that strange tremor earlier?”

Centurion Subordinus just started to get annoyed now. The Gauls were trying to have a conversation with them as though they were good acquaintances, not enemies. He heard some muttering and whispering coming from the legionaries behind him. What tremor? They didn’t feel anything. Perhaps it was too small to have ever reached them, or it was silenced in their marching? What if they were just trying to play a trick on them?

Subordinus felt himself fuming with rage. “Don’t listen to those two; they are mocking us!” He drew his sword from its scabbard, aiming it to the sky. “Attack, by Jupiter!” And with that, the army began marching forward, intending to wipe the village off the map.

Asterix looked up at his friend who was itching to get into the fun. “Remember Obelix, just stall them until everybody else is here.”

“I can contain myself!” Obelix replied. But Asterix shook his head and refocused to the century approaching them, knowing better than to take him on his word when Romans were involved. He could practically sense the emotion of utter glee on the big man without even needing to look at him. Before he could speak up again, Obelix was already sprinting forward, his terrier pursuing him, intending to grab the first unfortunate Roman that would stand in his way by the leg and swing him like a bat to send the others flying. But as he approached, he suddenly felt the ground sink below him again, and he tripped, toppling over. Everything suddenly trembled, and another deafening roar, a terrifying one this time, bellowed out from underneath. Everybody, Gaul and Roman alike, flinched and pulled their hands to their ears, trying desperately to protect their eardrums from the noise.

The seism was far worse this time. Everybody lost their footing and fell over. Some of the sturdier types were forced to their hands and knees. After he hit the ground, Asterix kept flat on his stomach, waiting, hoping, _praying_. It would stop any moment now. _It had to_. Earthquakes never lasted for long. He shakily turned his head to look back at the village, and all he saw was Cacofonix’s tree hut over the village walls. It quivered like the possessed before the thick oak uprooted in the quake, crashing down and disappearing from Asterix’s sight. His eyes widened. _The villagers!_ he panicked. They were out there, in danger! He looked to the other side, spotting Obelix at the same distance as the man was from the Roman army. He too had fallen over, trying to get up, but the quaking made it difficult. “Obelix! OBELIX!” Asterix shouted with all his might to his friend, but in vain; the earthquake roared so loudly that all other sound was drowned in it.

Abandoning his attempts to call Obelix, Asterix crept up from the shaking foundation and tried to reach him instead. But then, a mighty, loud crack: the ground split open between him and his friend. He felt his heart skipping a few beats as he jerked himself back quickly. Chunks of rock crumbled and fell into the gaping maw, swallowing them whole. Then the quake turned into a smaller tremor, then into a light shake, and then it vanished completely. A cloud of dust and sand wafted over the area, obscuring his sight. The Romans stared in shock at the horrific display.

An enormous sinkhole appeared in the middle of the field.

Obelix waited, letting the dust settle. After he finally felt he was in control of his body again, he lifted his upper body and raised his head to look behind him. The hole he saw must have been the size of a large house. The realization suddenly dawned on him that Asterix may have possibly fallen down. He jerked himself up quickly, calling out frantically. “Asterix!?”

“I’m here!” Asterix’s voice responded, mixed with some coughing. Obelix immediately sprinted around the crater, finding his friend on the other end, still feeling too disoriented himself to stand up, but he moved, and he didn’t look hurt. Not on the outside, anyway. Obelix felt a wave of relief wash over him. He approached him and crouched down to take Asterix by his arms, lifting him gently to help him get on his feet. “You all right? Nothing broken?”

Asterix glanced up at Obelix anxiously when he stood again, scanning the man up and down for injury. It appeared that he too was unharmed, aside from some bruises. “I-I’m fine, but the villagers... We need to help them!” The two were about to break into a sprint, wanting to reach the village as fast as they could. But they were halted by another roar, coming from deep in the maw behind them. They braced for another quake, but none came.

This felt very foreboding to Asterix. He wanted to turn around, but found that he couldn’t. He heard another rumbling growl behind him. His helm-wings drooped in an instant. _But this..._ This was a very different sound. It was animalistic, like a hungry wolf, but one that was far greater in size.

He hadn’t even realized that his friend did turn to look. Not until he felt a hand rest on his shoulder, shaking him lightly. Asterix looked up at Obelix, who was showing a terrified pale face, an expression that was very rare in the man, and highly uncharacteristic.

He was afraid to turn to look into the same direction as his friend did, but the warrior forced himself to anyway. What he witnessed was nothing like he’d expected. A huge misshapen limb, more hoof than paw, reached out from the sinkhole, clawing out at the sky before pressing down on the ground. It dug into the soil, reassuring its grip. Asterix snapped out of his spell of combined angst and bafflement, realizing that they were about to be in serious danger. He began to tug at Obelix’s arm, who still stood frozen in fear as the monster climbed out of the hole. “Obelix, come on! We have to-”

Flashes of purple electricity sparked out from the hole from which the creature rose. It raised its head; huge, curved horns and a hideous face of an animal skull, full of spikes and fangs unveiling themselves in the sun. The creature had the bearings of a lion, its skin was as though it were made of hard, dark-grey bark. Brown-red, sharp leaf-like frills protruded from its hunched back and its legs. But the most notable feature must have been its third set of limbs jutting out from its back like wings; a series of long, separated hard branches, yet they kept close together by some witchcraft, and seemed perfectly mobile. The last branch in each set ended in a long spear-like protrusion, threatening to impale anyone that got in the way. Two sets of small beady eyes gazed at the men. Its snout flared, and the monster hissed a terrible sound.

For the Romans that watched the events play out in the back, this was more than enough to signal a fast retreat. Subordinus didn’t even need to issue a command; he ran back into the forest just as fast as his legionaries did. Most soldiers had dropped their shields and pila*, just so they could run faster. “This is insanity! These men are sorcerous villains!”

The creature shrieked a terrible cry, raising its branched limbs and preparing to strike them down on the two Gauls that stood before it. Asterix yanked at Obelix’s arm again, desperately trying to get him to snap out of his state of shock. “Obelix! Wake up!” he cried out, but he could not get the big Gaul to move, not even after drinking the magic potion. But then, an idea: this time, he lurched forward, sending his full weight crashing into Obelix’s side. The unexpected potion-powered thrust knocked the big man out of balance, sending him stumbling a few meters away. And just in time too; Asterix had barely managed to dodge the monster himself after he had thrown himself right in front of the creature’s aim. He wasn’t hit by either spear, but the risk he took to save his friend cost him feathers on a now torn helm-wing.

The monster had both its spear-arms driven deep into the earth, growling annoyingly when it couldn’t pull them back out. This was his chance. Asterix scrambled up, drawing out his sword, but he stopped in his tracks when the beast started swinging its head angrily.

Right, those horns were still a danger. He wouldn’t be able to come close to that thing with only a short sword, not without being torn apart. He’d need something that had a longer reach. Something like...

The glint of metal shined in the distance, behind the cave-in where the creature spawned out of. The Romans had dropped their weapons. _A pilum!_ His eyes lit up, how fortunate it had been!

Obelix sat up, he had finally snapped from his spell of disbelief and horror. He looked around, confused, as if he had just woken from a nightmare, but that nightmare was still very real; he saw Asterix facing off against the monster. His face went white once again, but instead of freezing, he stood up, rushing up to aid his friend.

The village gate flew open with a harsh thunk, and Obelix looked back, watching a small, magic potion-powered army of thirty unarmed men rushing into the battle. Some of them stopped running midway, gasping at the sight they didn’t expect or believed to behold. Others made no hesitation, realizing well and fully that people of their own were in danger. “Attack! By Toutatis!” they cried. Those who did hesitate quickly picked their motivation back up, joining in the assault.

Asterix saw the villagers arriving to aid them from the corner of his eye. “Get those weapons! Hurry!” He pointed a finger past the stricken beast. The villagers’ eyes followed the direction and spotted the shields and javelins scattered across the field behind the sinkhole. Obeying without question, they sprang into action right away to retrieve the weapons. The beast was still stuck in the ground, yanking, struggling and roaring in frustration. Asterix held his sword out at it, but he didn’t attack. It was simply too dangerous. He signed for Obelix to join the rest, to pick up a spear and shield, then come back. The big Gaul felt helpless and weak to not be able to fight the monster the way he was used to. He never carried any weapons. Normally this wouldn’t have been a problem, but this enemy was armed with horns and spikes all over its body. Attacking it bare handed would be pure lunacy. Left with no other choice, Obelix complied, and he ran to join the other villagers.

_Crack!_

The monster’s struggles were starting to bear fruit; suddenly one limb shot loose from the ground and swung at the warrior, barely missing him. Asterix staggered back, but he remained stalwart, still keeping his sword aimed at the beast.

“Quick, it’s breaking free!” Indeed, after the first limb shot free, the second one followed quickly. Now free once more, the creature intended to seize its prey. It stretched its maw wide open, jerking forward. In a stroke of panic, Asterix swung his sword and slashed it in its mouth. A foolish action: the beast slammed its jaws shut, snagging the blade and yanking it forcefully out of the Gaul’s grip. The wound that the beast suffered bled golden liquid, but it barely fazed it. It clenched its jaws tighter, snapping the blade in two as if it were brittle bone. Now Asterix was helpless. No magic potion, no matter how strong it might make him, could save him now.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

_*a pilum (plural: pila) is a Roman javelin._


	3. Broken Sword

The villagers were scattered around the field, each picking up a pilum and shield. The group of armed villagers grew larger, until each and every one held at least one weapon. Chief Vitalstatistix took command from his shield, raising his sword. “Hurry, men! We must help Asterix! Push it back!”

The group turned back, passing the hole in the ground, but at all a sudden, they stopped. Their morale had dropped dead; their faces collectively turning pale all at once. Some dropped their weapons in total shock. Obelix was the worst of all of them. He felt his world crashing down all around him when he realized what he saw.

The beast had taken him.

The limp body hung in the jaws of the monster. Dark red fluid was leaking through his clothes, down his arms and dripping into the dirt. He had no time to scream, no ways of defending himself, and now, he appeared to have given his final breath keeping this...this _thing_...from attacking anyone else. Obelix’s surrounding were beginning to spin around him before they faded to black, all except for that beast, clutching his best friend in its malicious grip. _No... No, no, no! It’s not true! You can’t be dead! Not you!_ The creature snorted as it held the motionless body firmly. Blood was staining its skeletal face and it stared out at the villagers, eyes glinting. As the beast shifted its grip, Asterix made a light twitch and gasped a short, pained breath, indicating that he still barely clung to life.

At that moment, something snapped in Obelix’s mind; the vortex of emotions that plagued him were quickly replaced with nothing but sheer, blind rage. He roared out like a wounded animal and charged the beast alone, and before it was able to react, he relentlessly drove the pilum in his hand through its neck.

The beast stumbled away and gave an agonized shriek that was quickly cut short as it suddenly could no longer breathe. But it did not let go of Asterix, still keeping its jaws firmly locked around the Gaul’s bloodied torso. It emitted a sputtering grunt as it began to drown in its own blood. But it was not done yet; it faced the large man, eyes fuelled with rage as it lunged wildly towards him. Its two spiked limbs were aimed forward, intending to perforate its attacker. Without time to think, Obelix lifted the Roman shield he held in his other hand, lashing out and bashing it into the monster’s side when it was about to maul him. The creature was sent toppling down the gaping hole from where it came.

Realizing how stupid he’d just been, Obelix was snapped out of his fit of rage. _Oh, no! Oh gods! What did I do!? Asterix!_ His hands started trembling so badly that he dropped the shield, his face shifting from red-flushed anger to a pale expression of hysteria. He was about to jump down after them, calling his friend, but other voices responded back at him, telling him to stop, and pairs of hands grabbed hold of his arms. In the end, Fulliautomatix, Unhygienix, Cacofonix and two more men were required to keep Obelix in place, and had it not been for the magic potion coursing through their veins, he would have been unstoppable. He struggled and jerked against their grip, wailing out miserably.

 _“NO!”_ He suddenly burst into tears of grief, horror, and above all: regret. What a huge idiot he had been. He should have freed his friend, not send him dropping down into the dark maw that laid before him! Asterix was alive, he saw it! But now, he... he might have killed him! His gaze was fixed at the sinkhole. He didn’t want to stay here, he wanted to save his friend. He had to know if he was... Suddenly he heard an elderly voice calling his name, time after time. Getafix?

“Obelix! Obelix, please! Snap out of it! Look at me!”

The big man’s red-rimmed eyes finally shifted down to the voice. Yes, it really was the druid calling his name. Slowly, the surroundings that were blacked out around him began to return. His lips trembled, uttering “I...I could have saved him...” Tears were flooding his face.

“There was nothing that could be done, Obelix...” the druid tried to reassure him. Obelix could hear the regret and grief in his voice, could see the tears the elder was trying to hold back. “He was already gone...” Getafix eventually added, hoping it would lift some of the guilt Obelix felt on his shoulders.

Obelix shook his head, tearful eyes fixed on Getafix’s. _No, that’s not true! I saw him! He was breathing! Did nobody else see it!?_

A long, deathly silence hung over the Gaulish people. To know that one of their own had to die, and like this? The moment Getafix had confirmed Asterix’s death, nobody had the courage or will to speak. The men were joined by their wives and children after receiving the grim news, and the whole village simply stood morosely around the crevice in the ground. It was no longer a sinkhole in their eyes; it was an open grave.

As the dusk settled, one by one, the villagers quietly walked home after paying their respects to their only warrior. The one who defended his peoples’ lives, only to have his own robbed from him. Before leaving, they would share their condolences with Obelix, who was the only one that remained that night, continuously replaying the events in his mind. How was he ever going to get over this? Possibly never, but he had to try. Asterix would have wanted him to. Some hours passed, and he realized Dogmatix was also not beside him since the moment the second earthquake had struck. Hopefully, the little hound had fled to a safe place, and he would find him back again soon.

He remained sitting there all night, not caring for anything else anymore. Finally, he noticed a glint of metal shining in the corner of his eye. He looked, and what he found was Asterix’s sword that laid unattended on the ground, shining as the sun slowly rose from the woods. It had been broken into two shards. Standing up carefully, he shakily walked over to the broken weapon, picking up its pieces. He choked back another waterfall of tears when he looked at the two shards in his hands. He swallowed, and stared back at the sinkhole. Then and there, he decided: if this was going to be Asterix’s grave, he would turn it into a proper one.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

Moments after the monster had bitten him, Asterix had heard despondent, panicked voices and drowning growls. Shortly after, he felt a sudden impact of force, and so much more pain. The beast began tumbling down, with the dying Gaul still tightly gripped in its jaws. Hitting against rocks and debris, most of the collisions were absorbed by the beast. But there were times Asterix could feel those fangs sinking a little deeper into his chest, nearly puncturing his lungs, and only to loosen again whenever the animal slammed against another wall of rock. The tightening of the beast’s grip made him jerk out in pain, forced out what little air he had in him. At some point he thought he heard a branch snapping. Suddenly the creature’s grip on him was lost as it cracked its head against a rock, and he faced the drop alone.

Thankfully, that drop had quickly come to an end. He felt a sudden burst of energy; unlike anything he had ever felt, but it left as quick as it entered him. Before even realizing it, the dry cold of a freshly formed crevice was replaced with a tropical, damp warmth. His back slammed against a flat, hard surface. He wheezed painfully, letting out a feeble yelp.

For some time, everything was quiet around him. But then... “What have we here?”

Asterix’s eyelids fluttered open, unfocused brown eyes desperately trying to absorb the surroundings he was in. Everything was dark and fuzzy, lit dimly by purple and bits of red. A blurry figure, light grey and crimson in color, peeked over his bleeding form. Blue spheres examined him as he tried to focus on its face. But he was too far gone. He could hear his own heartbeat becoming weaker, his chest began to feel heavy like a rock, laboring his gasps for air further.

“What is it? Did it return?”

“No, it’s something else. Looks like a human, but I’m not sure. Kind of short.” the figure spoke up. “It appears he’s been roughed up by the Teragriff we sent in, judging from these bite marks. We can still save him, if we hurry. Apply hemostasis, sir?”

There was a short moment of silence.

“No. Let him exsanguinate. And close the portal, too. We’re done testing here.”

Asterix couldn’t quite understand the difficult words they used, but he knew for certain they were going to let him die. He had accepted this fate long before he came into this mess, anyway. Soon, he felt himself losing consciousness. He was going to die; here and now. Defeated, he closed his eyes as darkness enveloped him. His breathing halted. All he could do now was listen and wait for his heartbeat to fade out.

_...Lub-dub...Lub-dub..._

_...Lub-dub..._

_…_

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

“Oh _gods_!”

Asterix nearly fell out of the bed he sat on. He remembered everything now. He died! He died and then came back. But...how? How did he even... No. Wait a minute. He _can’t_ be alive. He _must_ be dead. What if he’s in the Hebrides?* But why? He was a honored warrior in the village; always ready to take on the challenges set before him, always prepared to put himself at risk for his people. Did he do something wrong in the gods’ eyes? Was he expecting too much of his actions? There had to be a logical explanation.

He looked down at his ripped up tunic. He could see white linen showing through the holes and tears. Pulling his tunic up quickly, he saw that his torso was wrapped in a tight, clean bandage. _This makes no sense,_ he thought to himself, but then again... He let his tunic down again, and then looked back at the injury he had caused from pulling out the conduit that had pierced his skin. His eyes weren’t deceiving him earlier; his blood really did look different. It had already started to clot and form into a scab. Despite the strange silvery tint it had somehow obtained, it was still doing its job normally, thank Belenos. But it didn’t fail to remind him that very little was making any sense so far.

A male voice spoke up. “Ah! Finally awake, I see.”

The Gaul yelped and jumped, nearly falling out of the cot again. He turned his head sharply at where the voice came from, and his face went white as milk in an instant. In the large and only doorway of the dark room, stood two goblin-like creatures, and what appeared to be a colossal juggernaut of stone and metal standing behind them. The first two strangers were just as tall as Asterix himself, standing upright just like a human would. Their skins were shades of brown and grey, and they were dressed in red and black clothing decorated with intricate diamond shaped designs. They had large heads shaped like watermelons, and a huge lopped ear jutted out from each side. Their eyes were large and wide apart, and their pupils lit up in the reflection of what little light there was, staring right down into the Gaul’s troubled soul. The hulking stone monster, also following the same color scheme of red and black, stood perfectly still behind the two, only giving away signs of movement when the goblin-creatures started to approach Asterix. A single red diamond-shaped eye made of crystal glowed and hovered in its open chest. It had no head, and even its limbs were floating in mid-air, connected only by more red crystals. The entire silhouette of the creature looked un-organic, as if it were carved by hand like a statue, but instead of being lifeless, this statue was animated and aware.

Asterix instinctively reached a hand for his gourd of magic potion, resulting in a quick reminder that his belt was missing, along with the weapons usually tied around it. “Devils,” the Gaul uttered in horror, edging backwards on the cot until his back was pressed against the wall. “You’re devils!”

“Devils?” the grey-skinned, male creature sneered, revealing shark-like teeth in his grimace.

“He probably thinks he’s still dead. The poor thing,” the other, a slightly chubbier one, with short, curly black hair, replied. This one had the same girly voice he heard before. And indeed, now that she was close to him, he could recognize her light blue eyes.

All of a sudden, Asterix’s agitation turned into anger and annoyance upon realizing these strangers were the ones who watched and let him die. He immediately snapped at them. “Who are you? What did you do to me!?”

“I don’t think you’re much in the position to be demanding answers from your captors, my mustached friend,” the first one responded.

“I’m not your friend,” Asterix retorted dully, noting that the word ‘captors’ meant that he was their prisoner, and that he was indeed very alive. The male sneered back sadistically. His gold-yellow eyes shifted down at the drops of blood that stained the bedding of the cot, then he glanced at the scab on Asterix’s arm. He bent over to look closer, and suddenly, that sneer turned into a creepy smile.

“Yes,” he hissed. “The synthetic hemo-plasma is doing its job well beyond our expectations.”

“A ground-breaking success, sir,” the girl replied.

Asterix tried to back up further, but the wall wouldn’t let him. “S-Synwhatic now?”

The creature’s head shot up at him with an annoyed look. “ _Synthetic hemo-plasma_ , you dim-witted bookah!”

“Come again?”

“A blood substitute,” the girl repeated in words he could understand. “We used our technology and knowledge of magic to give it the same properties as that of real blood.”

Asterix gawked when the words settled on him. “B...but...” he stuttered, “How? You let me die!”

“A very well-made observation. I’m surprised you remember that,” the male grinned. “Write that down, Vamma!”

Asterix suddenly felt like he could die again. If his stomach hadn’t been empty at the time, he would have probably hurled. Swallowing audibly, he tried to take some deep breaths to calm his nausea. “I...I don’t understand...”

“It’s simple, really.” the male replied as he straightened himself again. He began to walk slowly in little circles. “We were trying to see how far we could reach with our prototype long-distance portal. Completely experimental, you see. We sent in a Mordrem Teragriff to see if it would survive the trip.” The creature tapped his lips with a clawed finger. “But instead of the Mordrem returning to us, you came out! We decided to put you aside for another experiment of mine that was on a hiatus; it was to see if we could successfully revive you, and keep you alive, using my synthetic hemo-plasma. You weren’t dead for more than an hour, I assure you, and the experiment was a complete success!”

It took some moments to piece together the story presented to Asterix, but the more he began to understand, the more he felt his rage boiling up. Suddenly he furiously shot forward and snagged the big-eared goblin-man by the collar, his face flushed red. “So that’s it!? I became a victim of one of your cruel tests and then I happened to _fit the bill_ for anoth-”

Asterix suddenly felt a huge stone hand hitting him brutally, grabbing him at his throat and forcing him to let go of his captor. His back and head made a resounding impact against the wall he leaned against earlier, knocking the wind out of his lungs and _almost_ knocking his consciousness out of his mind. He gasped painfully, gripping his hands at the fist that nearly threatened to squeeze his throat shut. He opened his eyes, witnessing the stone monster looming over him threateningly. It made a low, mechanical buzzing noise, as if it were growling.

The girl named Vamma quickly helped her mentor stand up. He dusted his clothes, frowning bitterly.

“You would do wise to not try that again,” he warned. “Our golems are programmed to take out anyone they detect to be a threat to us.” He shot a look at the golem. “Let him go.”

Obediently and without question, the animated statue complied, and it dropped the Gaul with a thud. He was glad that he landed back in the bed, or he would have been hurting in more places than he already did. He slumped against the wall, wheezing for air.

“Now I suggest you make yourself at home here. You won’t be leaving this place in a long while.” He turned around, intending to leave.

Asterix looked up shakily. He knew what this meant. A raspy voice escaped his mouth, “You can’t do this...”

“Can we not?” the lop-eared man retorted as he turned his head. “We have made you into just another of our test-subjects. You _belong_ to us now. The Inquest _owns_ you!” The sharp teeth flashed under his grimace once again. “And there is _nothing_ you can do about it. As far as anyone in this facility is concerned, you are just as dead as you were two days ago! Is that clear enough for you?”

The Gaul simply stared back quietly, feeling the sensation of hopelessness and defeat washing over him. But he wasn’t ready to give up yet. The two and their golem turned around, walking toward the doorway. The doorway...his only chance. Maybe if he could slip through before they locked the door behind them... He was a fast runner, when the situation called for it. With a little luck, he could outrun them.

He quickly jumped to his feet, making a sprint for the doorway, but as soon as the golem had walked though, a red glowing wall of some form of transparent plasma flickered on, blocking his way to freedom. He found himself smacking his face right into the force field. _What the-!?_ ”No! Let me out!” he yelled, slamming his fists against it. Vamma, the Inquest apprentice, stopped to look back at the desperate Gaul, seeming almost remorseful. Asterix looked into her big eyes, his own pleading for his freedom.

“Vamma, don’t trail off!”

Vamma lifted an ear towards the direction of her mentor’s voice. Her lips moved, muttering a whispered “sorry” before running off after him.

Asterix was now alone once more. He leaned his forehead against the plasma wall, his fingers pressing against it until they turned white. He felt so frustrated. So alone. And that goblin guy was right; everybody, his village, his friends, family, maybe even his enemies; they probably all think he’s dead. They don’t even know he’s out here. And the worst of all: he didn’t even know how _they_ were doing after all the things they had gone through. Eventually he turned, walking back to the cot, where he sat down. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, and discovered to his dismay that his helmet had also gone missing. He didn’t have the time to notice it before, but now that he did, he felt naked without it. And vulnerable. He always had it with him. A long, lonely sigh left him.

Another discomforting feeling began to tug at him; this time, a physical one. A hot sensation combined with the feeling of emptiness stirring up from deep within. He recognized it and realized he hadn’t had any chances to eat since that dreadful day. The day he would have eagerly skipped in his life, the day he wished had never come to pass. Crushed and defeated, he laid himself on the bed gently. No point in wasting his energy, he deduced, and he closed his eyes, wishing this was all just a horrible dream, and that he would soon wake up in his own bed, in his village, in Gaul.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

A long uneventful week had since passed. Inquest golems, serving as prisoner guards, were constantly keeping an eye out. The benefit in allowing the living statues on guard was that they never faltered or tired, taking only one short break to recharge themselves in their stations on a set hour every day. Without windows to look outside to, the only way Asterix could tell the time was by how the Inquest went about their days. Once a day, in the afternoon, apparently, they would present him a meal; a cold, paltry mix of pulped...Toutatis knows what...presented in a bowl and accompanied with a spoon, as well as a jug of water. Despite not knowing whatever things were put into the mingled pile, he ate it. It didn’t taste like much, but at least it wasn’t so revolting that it would make him sick to his stomach. Still, the food was severely lacking in nourishment, and it was starting to show. He was weak and pale, and his features had become thinner. He often found himself sleeping much more than usual. And those moments of rest were often accompanied by nightmares. The lack of a proper place to tend to his personal hygiene resulted in the growth of a light stubble on his face.

There were more prisoners than just him, Asterix had learned. He would try and talk with them through the plasma prison doors every night when the days were the most quiet. Whenever he did manage to have a conversation with one of the prisoners, they would each have a different story to tell about who they were and how the Inquest caught them, but they were never stories involving earthquakes and a rogue portal. One was literally a bipedal rat, who was just as tall as him. Her name was Srikk’chita and she called herself a _skritt_. Her speech was fast-paced and almost gibberish, he couldn’t learn much from her. Another prisoner, Braggan, called himself a _norn_ ; a huge muscular man, who looked almost Gaulish like Asterix. But he held a much closer resemblance to a Viking, with braids in his blonde beard and Celtic designs crisscrossing in the form of dark-blue tattoos on his bare arms. The only difference that Asterix could make out between norn and humans, was that the norn were giants; the one he met in particular must’ve been at least a foot taller than Obelix.

A third prisoner, much to Asterix’s surprise, was one of those big-headed, grey-skinned ‘Inquest’. He told him that not all _asura_ , for that was the true name of their kind, were as villainous as the ones who imprisoned them. “The Inquest are no more than inexorable cultists,” he explained. “We asura are experimenters and scholars by nature, always seeking knowledge. But we know when to draw the line. The Inquest will _cross_ that line. They don’t care about the well-being of their test subjects. They’ll even imprison their own kin... And they’re not afraid to kill in the name of science.”

And Asterix knew this all too well. Feeling at his chest carefully with a hand, he was reminded of the way he died, with them watching, doing nothing. _In the name of science… Heh._

But these prisoners never stayed long in their cells, being dragged off by the golems again for their next punishment. Asterix was the only one who remained locked in his cell for this long, aside from being dragged out every once in a while for a check-up, mostly to see how well their ‘product of science’ was functioning, and if it had any side-effects. Only when Vamma was the one checking his pulse and taking blood samples, he felt at least slightly safe. Unlike the other Inquest, she would _talk to him_ , remarking how his body was slowly beginning to produce fresh new blood to replace the fake, and then she would smile warmly. _At him._ Another thing only Vamma would do, was checking and cleaning the injuries he had ‘endured’ from his encounter with the Teragriff. She was the one with the doctor’s degree, after all. She always refreshed his bandages too. Taking the samples stung; a thin needle had to be pressed down on his arm until it pierced deep into his skin and drew blood. He was very disturbed about it first, but after a short while, he became used to it. That didn’t make it any less discomforting, however, and the pricked area on his arm would feel stiff and sensitive for the rest of the day. Certainly not a pleasant experience.

Asterix always just sat quietly, waiting for the ordeal to be over. Despite Vamma’s involvement with his unfortunate situation, he felt like he was being rude to her, as she was the only one who tried to comfort and take care of him at least a little bit in this dark place. And he regretted it when he didn’t talk back to her, time after time again. And when he could finally settle back into the comfort of his bed again, he would think about what he could have done to show his appreciation to her, until he became too tired to stay awake anymore, and went back to his fitful sleep.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

_*The Hebrides Islands were the home of ghosts and demons in the ancient Gaelic beliefs and tradition._


	4. The Escape

A resounding _clang_ could be heard across the prison halls. Asterix shot up from his bed, stirred awake at the noise. That was a sound he hadn’t heard here before. After rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he began to look around. Everything was as usual. Dark and gloomy, with those glowing red lines running across the floor. And it was clammy and warm, like a jungle. Just the same old.

“Come here, you disheveled vermin!”

He suddenly heard skittering of the tiniest of claws coming from down the hall. He got curious as of who would be stirring trouble out there. Either way, it was something the Inquest deserved. He got up from his bed. He was a little wonky, but that was to be expected, after all he has been going through. As he walked to the glass-like force field that formed his prison door, a tiny white-black blur came running past.

_Wait a minute, was that-?_

“Give it back! That’s _my_ sausage!”

An asuran lab specialist, Inquest, no doubt, was running after the animal. Asterix quickly walked up to the door, pressing his face sideways against it so he could see what happened. The asura snagged the poor thing by its scruff, and then he lifted it. “Ha! Now I have you. Can’t get away _this_ time, you filth! I will have you exterminated right away.” In response, the animal began to howl and struggle.

_No, it couldn’t be…! How did he get here!?_

The asura sneered a toothy grin as he turned around, walking past Asterix’s cell, a wiggling and crying white terrier in his hand. _But, it really is. It really is!_ Suddenly, Asterix found himself raising his voice.

“Hey! Leave him alone!”

The asura stopped, turning his head at the direction from which the voice came. The dog suddenly started yipping excitedly and wagged his little black-tipped tail when he saw who stood there behind the prison frame. The lab specialist glanced down at the animal, and then he walked to Asterix, holding the dog up in front of him.

“This is your pup?” He inquired.

Asterix almost began to feel dizzy when he watched Dogmatix dangling by his scruff in the asura’s hand. Like how one would feel light-headed when they stood up too fast after too long a period of laying down. But quickly, he recovered. “Yes,” he suddenly snapped, making a foul scorn directed at the asura.

“Then you can watch it die.” The man’s sneer suddenly curled into a creepy smile as he took the pup into his other hand, folding his fingers firmly around him. He then drew out a red and black, linear dagger from its sheath that hung from his belt, directing the blade towards the dog’s neck. An unwise decision. The animal retaliated in the fashion he knew best: slamming his jaws down on the asura’s hand and digging his canines deep into his fingers. The lab specialist let out a painful yowl, dropping the animal and the dagger at the same time.

“Dogmatix, come!”

The pup barked, crawling underneath the small opening between the floor and the force field panel. Reunited finally with someone he knew, Asterix knelt down and embraced his animal companion quickly in his hands. He could almost burst out in tears! Dogmatix returned his joy by showering the man’s face in dog kisses.

But that moment of happiness wouldn’t last long. Grunting angrily, the asura looked at his bleeding finger. His face, filled with revenge, shot up at the two, and this time, he drew a different weapon from another sheath; a dark red prod, about two feet long, sparked furiously. A menacing grimace crept out from his features and his nostrils flared. “Hand over the dog, human…and I won’t make you regret it.” Asterix slowly backed up, keeping Dogmatix close to his chest. His heart suddenly sped up, feeling its beat in his throat.

“Come and get him, flap-eared mongrel!” he blurted. The sudden outburst even surprised himself. Hearing himself insult a stranger was rather unusual. But apparently it was something he had been holding back for days. He felt some relief washing over him, as if he had been penting up his anger and frustration towards the Inquest for far too long.

The asura blinked at the words, registering the insult as quick as lightning, but not having expected such a retort from a _prisoner_ , of all things. This time, his features darkened, wrinkles and creases of anger forming on his face. He held his four-fingered hand to a panel close to the prison doorway, tapping down a code, and the force field evaporated. Now there was no obstacle between himself and the person who just insulted his amazing ears. He crept forward, a sadistic smile forming across his face as he held the weapon to the defenseless Gaul. The prod sparked violently with electricity. A well-aimed jab could stun Asterix, and kill his pet together with it.

The Gaul kept on walking backwards until his back was pressing against the wall, keeping Dogmatix close with him the whole time. He started to feel light-headed again, an irritating byproduct of his undernourishment that had been pestering him for the past days. _This is no time to faint!_ He stared out at the prod, threatening to electrocute them, and he gulped down his angst. Dogmatix whined nervously in his hold.

The moment felt like it was being stretched into long minutes, but in reality only lasted seconds. The lab specialist drew back his prod, preparing to give the Gaul a jolt of electrical punishment. By this time, Asterix had his eyes pressed shut and held his breath, oddly prepared to take the beating in full force. He waited, and waited…it didn’t come.

Instead, a loud continuous noise, like a monotone trumpet, bellowed out across every corner of the facility. The Inquest specialist’s ears shot up, and he turned his face. Asterix’s eyes opened again at the noise and he glanced up, surprised by the interruption, but also thankful. A voice, riddled with buzzing, suddenly echoed across the building’s interior.

“Attention! The facility is under attack! Sylvari incursion detected! I repeat: the facility is under attack!”

_Sylvari?_

Asterix, who was the first to look back down, stared at the distracted asura. A little bell rang in his head: this was his chance! He let Dogmatix down swift and quietly. Just as the asura turned his head back, he was met with a fistful of pain that cracked into his cheek. Dropping the prod, the asura fell to his knees. He looked dizzy and taken by surprise, but he opened his mouth, getting ready to call out for reinforcements. _Oh no you don’t!_ Asterix grabbed the Inquest by the back of his head, and he turned around and slammed his face right into the wall. This time, he slumped down to the floor into limp heap. A thin smear of blood stained the wall. Dogmatix winced and looked away as the pup’s ears registered the forceful _thunk_ that could almost be heard over the blazing noise of the alarm.

Asterix jumped back in shock, taken aghast by his own actions. He bent down to his knees carefully, gripping the limp figure by his hair and pulling him up carefully. He was unconscious, alright, thick blood rolling down from his flattened nose. But he was breathing. Thank all the gods. He’ll probably be all right. Asterix let the asura’s face drop back to the floor with a light thud. “Let’s go Dogmatix.”

For the first time, Asterix found himself outside of his cell without wearing shackles and having a golem guard looming over him. This time, he was accompanied by his dog and the blearing noise of the alarm. He glanced left, and right, and left again. _Where is the exit?_

“Hey! Hey you! Help!” a squeaky, high-pitched voice yelped.

His head turned sharply at the voice crying out for help. The hunched, skinny rat-girl scratched her prison frame with her thinly clawed fingers. Her big beady eyes were pleading to his. It was the prisoner he once met before. A skritt, wasn’t it? He ran over quickly, Dogmatix staying close to his heels.

“Yes! Yes! Help out, please!” the skritt chittered. “Hurry!”

Asterix scanned the doorway up and down until he found the panel next to it, that kept the force field in place. But he simply couldn’t make out how it worked. He tried pressing some buttons, but in response, the panel spoke in a robotic voice. “Invalid-input. Please-try-again. Number-of-tries-remaining:-3”

Asterix gulped. This was some form of security he’d never seen before. Maybe he needed a key? A password? Or did he simply have to know the right ‘input’? He tried pressing some again, and once more, the same voice and sentence responded, but this time, he only had two tries left.

“Quick, quick! They’re coming,” she said as she got hysterical. And that didn’t help Asterix in the least.

“I can’t do it!” he yelled back, a flush of panic overcoming himself. They suddenly felt a light shake across the floor, and an explosion could be heard in the distance. And soon, they heard voices, coming from down the hall. The Inquest were coming. Asterix leaned himself against the wall to give himself a better footing, and gave the panel one last try. Again the disappointment of a wrong input. This frustrated Asterix. He didn’t have much time left.

The skritt suddenly called out to him, this time saying something else. “Run! Run! Save yourself!”

Asterix hesitated. He didn’t want to leave an innocent person to her fate, but she was right. If Inquests found him, outside of his cell, they would most definitely catch him. And he would be back at where he started, or worse… The voices were getting closer. They could be coming past the corner any moment now, and they would see him. It would be too late.

The skritt shouted, making him snap out of his train of thoughts. “What’re you waiting for! Run! Run! _RUN!_ ”

This time his mind had never been clearer. “I’m sorry,” he regretfully told to the skritt. He bent down and shifted a hand below Dogmatix. They had to move as one unit now. His fingers slipped between the animal’s legs so he could keep his other hand free in case he needed it. Going the direction where he hoped no Inquest would come running down, he snagged the dagger the lab specialist had dropped from the floor as he passed it. It was no bigger than a butter knife, but it was definitely much sharper than one, and a weapon is a weapon.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

The facility was a literal maze. Every time Asterix reached the end of one hall, it would split into three more. There was no sign of them ever stopping. It was almost enough to drive him into insanity. Every so often, he would see Inquest running down the halls with their weapons out, grouped with defense and assault golems, and he had to turn fast to hide, Dogmatix carefully pressed against his chest. Thankfully, the gods had smiled on them. So far, they had not been detected. The Inquest seemed far too distracted with this ‘incursion’ of…what was the word again?

Indeed, there were times when he saw swift, colorful blurs running past him like ghosts. At first, he thought it was because of his malnutrition that he was starting to see things, but then he realized those blurs were _fighting_ the Inquest. He didn’t know what their intentions were, but he wanted to keep from getting involved with them as much as possible. But then, he had an idea. These invaders had to be coming into the facility from _somewhere_ , so what if he went the opposite way they were headed? It was worth a try, he deduced. Better than to keep running down the same hall for the tenth time, anyway. With some luck, and the gods’ blessings on his side, both the Inquest and their enemy would be too distracted with each other to notice him slipping out of the facility.

Determined to go with this idea, he glanced around the halls, trying his best to stay out of sight as much as possible, though there was not much to hide behind. Asterix waited quietly for those blurs to appear again. He heard shouting coming down the hall behind him, and his head turned to the direction. Yes, there they are: tall, limber and humanoid in shape, and as fast as the wind, a group of the multi-colored figures ran past him. One of them, a blue-green one, shot the Gaul a glance with its luminescent, crimson eyes as it ran, but no more than that. They probably thought he wasn’t worth their trouble, and he took that as a blessing from Toutatis. When the figures had long passed him, he quickly turned and ran into the direction from which they came.

He was starting to make progress; he no longer recognized some of the halls he went down, eventually even reaching a laboratory. To his joy, the lab room had a holographic chart of the facility’s layout flickering on the wall, and he rushed over to inspect the map carefully. Most of the layout glowed in red, as per the Inquest fashion, but there was one small white, upside-down triangle pin-pointing a certain location. This must be where he and Dogmatix were. He shot a quick glance down at the white pup. The animal cocked his head sideways, those big, deep-brown eyes looking back into his own. How did the poor thing even get himself into the same mess that Asterix was in? The most logical explanation he could think of was that the little fellow had fallen down the gaping hole after the earthquake as well.

He looked back up and continued to read the map, looking for ways out. There was one exit, down several halls south-west of the laboratory he was in, apparently. But would it really be that wise to take that route? What if he ran into the Inquest again? Maybe those strangers busted a wall somewhere, where he could-

“What do you think you’re doing here!?”

_Oh, no…_ Those words were the first that came to mind. He had been standing in one place too long.

Asterix turned his head slowly, recognizing the voice belonging to that particularly nasty Inquest boss, the mentor of Vamma, that he disliked with a strong passion. The man was accompanied with his personal guard and several defense golems. Apparently he was going to chicken out, until his yellow eyes settled on the Gaulish fugitive. “Who let him out of his cell!?” he angrily inquired to his personal guard.

“An _idiot_ did,” Asterix answered with a cocky smile. This time, his insulting words were fully intended, knowing the asura did not like being questioned for their intelligence, let alone being insulted about their ears. He somehow even enjoyed watching the Inquest leader’s face turn red.

He shot a clawed finger at his escaping subject. “Seize him! He mustn’t get away!”

Asterix didn’t understand why he was so important to this guy. Neither did he care. He watched two of the defense golems approach him, intending to drive him into a corner so he couldn’t escape. But instead he found himself not moving a limb at all, keeping his dog close to him in one hand, and the Inquest dagger directed to the enemy in the other. He was too tired; tired of running, tired of being _here_. His last resort was to fight. Even though he knew undoubtedly he would lose this battle. So be it, then. He was done being just another toy for the Inquest. Instead he chose to die like a true Gaul.

“Asterix!”

Everybody’s attention shifted to the voice calling his name. It was Vamma, running over from another hallway and snaring a guard with an electric prod in her hand. The jolt was strong enough to make the guard drop down to the floor. She jabbed another guard in his neck, the only exposed part under the metal armor.

“Stop her!”

She raced past the two golems, and before Asterix even had the slightest of what was going on, he was grabbed by the wrist and pulled along. The sudden movement had made him drop his dagger. The golems’ bulking bodies shifted laggingly, their crystalline eye failing to lock on their target. For a moment, they just stood like idiots.

The Inquest boss, wide eyed, scowled at the golems’ stupidity. These _morons_ needed to be recycled. “Don’t just stand there,” he shouted furiously, “Get them! _Get them both!”_

“Yes-Leader-Klipp-sir,” both robots resounded, and they gave chase.

Asterix was almost sure Vamma was not leading him to the exit, but he trusted her anyway. Why else would she have come to his rescue, then? Not to just betray him again. That would be impractical, especially now that the Inquest were under attack. She suddenly stopped, and he bumped right into her. That hardly appeared to bother the sturdy and healthy asuran girl. She knelt down, pressing a seemingly normal brick in the wall. But then Asterix reminded himself, there were hardly any bricks in these walls at all, having been carved out of solid rock. It was a button.

A panel flickered on from the pushed block, displaying a similar set of buttons that the prisons had. She flawlessly tapped the code into the console, and with a crack, shards of rock in the wall magically realigned themselves to reveal a once camouflaged doorway. “Get inside!” Vamma commanded. Asterix obeyed her, and quickly entered the new room. It was pitch-black inside. Vamma remained kneeled by the door, still behind the console, pressing the buttons some more. Her big long ears darted high up like a rabbit’s. She could hear the thumping of stone feet rhythmically pounding the floor. Soon enough, Asterix heard the approaching golems too. Dogmatix began to growl in his hold.

“What are you doing!?”

“Almost there…”

With a swift final push of a button, Vamma got on her feet and lunged herself through the doorway as it closed itself once more. Just in time too. One of the golems reached an arm through the closing gap, trying to snag one of the two. Instead the reformed wall cracked its arm, snapping it as the arcane crystal that formed its joint was crushed between the rock. The dismembered arm twitched for a short while until the magical attunement left it, and it dropped to the floor. It was now as dark as a moonless night. An abyss of blackness.

Asterix leaned his back against the wall, slumping down gently until his bottom plopped on the floor. He was having yet another dizzy spell, feeling as if the floor below him could vanish at any second and send him falling into the abyss. The unexpected moments of high tension left him almost depleted. Unable to see a thing in this inky blackness, he closed his eyes to let them rest; just for a little while. His eardrums registered the soft weeping of Dogmatix in his hands, but also the footsteps, fiddling and the muttering voice of Vamma. Behind him, he heard the faint pounding of golem fists as the wall he laid his back against vibrated softly. It felt oddly therapeutic. When the dizziness was gone, he reopened his eyes, and unpleasantly, was met with light. It was still dim; only just a little brighter than his eyes were accustomed to, but it hurt all the same. He squinted a little. Eventually, he got used to it and glanced around. It was an old control room, monitoring the prison halls with the use of asuran holo-technology. A locked iron door was at the end of the room, only wide and tall enough for someone of asuran girth to fit through. The dust that had collected on the shelves and desks indicated that it had been abandoned and not used in a very long time, nowadays only serving as a means to hide. He looked up at Vamma, who seemed preoccupied in finding something, checking tables and shelves and drawers. He then heard the yip of a white terrier, and he was greeted with more happy dog kisses when he looked down at Dogmatix. He smiled, comforted by his pet, and relaxed by the softly vibrating wall against his back. But knowing what it truly meant, he simply had to ask:

“Will they break through?”

“No, but it won’t take long until Klipp figures out how to bypass my passcode override. That’s why you need to get out of here as fast as possible… Ah.” She beamed up, finding what she was looking for in one of the desk drawers. She pulled out an empty short sword’s scabbard, and a green belt, and laid them on the dusty stone desk. And then, she dug back into the same drawer again, retrieving an white-winged helm, and…

Asterix allowed Dogmatix down to the floor, forcing himself back on his feet. He slowly walked over to the table. Vamma looked at him and smiled, placing the brown gourd into his hand. “They confiscated these after we found you,” she said. “They…no, _we_ , wanted to be on the safe side and threw it all in the trash.” Her smile turned into a culpable frown. “But then I saw how much you suffered, and…I felt bad for you. I had to dig around a bit, but I got them all back for you and cleaned them up. I even think there’s still some water in that gourd, but it’s probably stale by now-”

Asterix lifted his hand and shook the gourd gently near his ear, listening and feeling if any contents remained. There was a little left; hardly enough. He uncorked the gourd, taking a quick whiff. _Magic potion!_ But there was only enough for one last use. He would have to save it for an emergency only. He corked the gourd firmly again to not let any of the precious liquid escape.

“Thanks,” he said, glancing up at Vamma with a smile. He put the gourd down and instead reached for his belt to put it on. Not much to his surprise, he found that the thing was too wide for him when he fastened it at the hole he normally used, so he refastened it to fit better. He tied the scabbard, never know when it might come in handy, and the gourd back to their usual places. And then, finally, he picked up his helm, taking a short moment to examine it. One of its wings was roughed up, missing feathers, and hanging weakly from its base where it was attached. He couldn’t help but let out a miserable sigh, but then he raised the helm and put it back on his head, where it belonged. He looked down to Dogmatix, and the pup yipped, tongue lolling about.

“Listen,” Asterix said as he looked back to Vamma. “I’m sorry for never talking to you during those checkups-”

“I’m the one who should be sorry,” she retorted back, interrupting Asterix’s apology. “I should have helped you sooner. Everything that the Inquest have done…what they’re _still_ doing…it’s so wrong! I only just joined them a few weeks ago, because they promised they could help make my ideas become a reality… But I never thought they would be so cruel.” Her head faced the floor and her ears drooped, looking as though she was not worthy to even gaze at him. “If I ever get out of this place alive, then I’m quitting the Inquest for good.”

She raised her head again and her ears returned to their normal stance. She turned around and paced to the small door at the end of the room. She pressed a code on the panel next to it, and the block of iron unlocked itself. She took the door by its metal grips and pulled it open. “You can escape through here. Just keep following the hall. You’ll end up far outside the facility. Then keep heading down the river until you hit a Lionguard outpost. You can’t miss it.”

“You’re not coming with me?” was Asterix’s first response as he picked Dogmatix up again and stopped just in front of the path to freedom.

“I can’t. I have to free the other prisoners first,” she answered.

Asterix immediately felt the guilt lift from his shoulders, for having been unable to free any prisoners himself. Vamma knew the code, once having been part of the Inquest. She wouldn’t have any issues getting them out…unless those invaders, or the Inquest, got her first. That thought made him cringe. She had done so much for him. And she righted her wrongs. She didn’t deserve to die or get caught. Then and there, he made a decision.

He set Dogmatix down once more and untied the gourd of magic potion from his belt, handing it to the asura. “Here. You’ll need it more than I do.”

Vamma eyed the gourd and took it sheepishly, realizing that whatever was in it, it couldn’t be water. “What’s in it?”

“Something special from home,” the warrior answered back. “If you drink it, it’ll tenfold your strength for a little while. Use it if you get in trouble.”

Vamma looked up at Asterix, her large and clear blue eyes making contact with his own. She opened her mouth to speak, but suddenly, her ears perked up. “Oh! I nearly forgot!” She shot back to the table, picking up an old book and tearing out a yellowed page. She took a pot of ink from one of the shelves and a goose feather, and hurriedly scribbled something on the paper. When she was done, she folded it neatly and handed it to him. “Keep this safe. Don’t ever lose it!” she told him sternly. Asterix didn’t know why it could be so important, but he nodded obediently, shifting the piece of paper into his pocket.

_Kzzzt!_

The two people and the dog shot a look at the wall behind them. It was starting to re-shift its shards again to form the doorway. Klipp bypassed the passcode.

“Go!” Vamma shouted, pushing Asterix forward into the hall. Dogmatix quickly skittered off after him, and once she had made sure they were both through, Vamma pushed the iron door shut and relocked it. She took the prod from the desk and zapped the panel that served as the door’s lock, frying its conduits and rendering it useless. Asterix was free now. He could make it out on his own. Her instructions were crystal clear.

_Once he’s at the outpost, he’ll be safe for a while…_


	5. Arterium Haven

Pitch blackness. That was all he saw. Asterix held his hands out against the walls of the cold and moist surface of the tunnel to feel his way through it. Unlike the facility’s smooth stone walls, this tunnel was crudely made out of bricks. It smelled much like a sewer... it was also probably being used as one. He did his best being careful with every step he took so he wouldn’t trip or slip over anything, or step on whatever might be crawling around in here. He kept Dogmatix fitted in his collar, so that he had both hands free and so that they wouldn’t lose each other in the darkness.

Suddenly, Asterix yelped and nearly slipped, managing to barely keep himself from falling over by clutching a protruding stone brick. He felt something slithering and brushing past his ankle. He took a few moments to catch his breath after the surprise. _Gods!_ _Where does this stinking rut finally end!?_ It felt like he had been walking around in it for hours, while in reality they may have been only ten minutes. He felt Dogmatix fumbling around in between his collar, giving off an abrupt whine.

“I know, I know,” he soothingly told to Dogmatix, trying to calm the pup. “I want to get out of here too.” Taking a long, deep breath, he carefully continued moving forward, knowing full well that he had no time to waste.

After another couple of minutes, the tunnel was slowly becoming brighter. He could see dim, blueish light shining down on those bricks that he had been holding on to. At last, he was nearing the end of the tunnel. He began to speed up, no longer worried about tripping over something, or slipping. He only cared about leaving the days spent in prison behind him. To be outside again. It was a luxury that he missed dearly, and he never realized that until it was taken away from him. Taking his first steps out of the escape route and beholding the wilderness outside, he realized why it always felt like a jungle in the facility. Because outside, it _was_ a jungle.

The area he entered was shrouded in night, but it felt so… so bright. It was nothing like he had become accustomed to. And the air, so fresh! He paused a moment to take in great lungsful of the clean healthy air. He looked about, trying to orient himself. The area was full of tall exotic trees, jungle plants were dotted around the rocky, yet green landscape, and the river mentioned to him by Vamma twisted through the area. Turning around, he could see the Inquest facility towering over him in the distance. Its architecture was much like it was on the inside; straight, blocky and adorned with diamond-shape cubes. However, on the outside, the complex was using blue lights rather than red. Possibly as a means of covering up what really went on in there.

Either way, Asterix took a mental note to avoid any buildings that shared similarities to the one he was holed up in for more than a week. Now, all he had to do was follow the river downstream until he would find this ‘Lionguard outpost’. Hopefully he would find it soon, and hopefully, it would look nothing like this building. Vamma did say he ‘can’t miss it’, after all. He shifted his focus back to the river, and started following it.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hope yer all hungry, ‘cause dinner is served,” the norn chef announced as he set down a big pot of hot soup in the middle of the fortified camp. It was creamy and richly filled with all kinds of vegetables.

“ _Bagh_ ,” a large, bulky soldier in bronze-tinted, heavy plate armor sneered. “Soup _again_? When do we get something _proper_ to eat, like some well-roasted meat, with potatoes on the side?” He licked his chops and fangs with his big pink tongue at the thought.

“When we get new supplies from Lion’s Arch. Now quit nagging. You’re here to help keep this road safe, not make everybody else crave potatoes,” another soldier answered back in a stern tone. She was a slender human woman, dark-skinned in color, and she wore the same kind of armor. A badge on her chest plate indicated that she was in command around here.

“Yes, sheriff Kol, ma’am…” The first soldier stood up and grumped as he got in line for supper. His long furry tail twirled around as he received a bowlful of the steaming chunky broth in his big, clawed mitts. The soldier’s green, slit eyes lit up a little when he saw some chunks of beef floating around in it, and he smiled, a set of long crooked canines glinting in the light of the campfire.

Kol sighed. Was there ever a time that the big horned cat _didn’t_ think about meat? The woman shrugged lightly. Well, he _is_ a charr. Those big, hunched, bipedal felines weren’t used to anything else _but_.

She looked up. Not a cloud to be seen in the dark star-filled sky. Good, no rain tonight. All has been calm lately for the Lionguard of Arterium Haven. Hylek and Inquest attacks were less frequent than usual. It was a boring task, watching the trade route, but those times of silence meant that things were going well for a change.

“Sheriff, ma’am,” a watch guard called down from the brick walls. He had a distinctive accent in his speech. “Someone is approaching the haven. I think a human.”

“Huh? Alone and at this hour? Those merchants become bolder and more foolish every day, going out at night in a place like this,” Kol groaned.

“This isn’t a merchant, ma’am,” the guard answered back, “He has nothing with him. Only a little dog.”

_That’s odd…_ ”Open the gate!”

They swung open the heavy, wooden doors. A short man, no bigger than a tall asura, stood there, accompanied by a tiny white terrier that kept close to his heels. He was smudged with dirt, unarmed, skinny, and pale as a ghost. A barrage of mosquito bites were apparent on his bare arms, and his tattered tunic and broken helm-wing told the Lionguard he had been having a _very_ bad day. The sheriff quickly called to one of her soldiers to bring food, water, and a blanket, while she and two others quickly approached the exhausted fugitive to help him inside.

“Is…is this the Lionguard outpost?” the frail man asked.

“Yes, this is Arterium Haven,” Kol answered, examining the weak structure of the man. He looked like he could break at the minutest of movement. “You’re safe here. Come, have a seat. We have warm soup,” she urged. But the man didn’t hear any of it, nothing but the word ‘yes’.

“Good…” he answered with a dangerously weak puff of breath, and suddenly, he began to wobble. Sheriff Kol was the first to notice, and her brown-black eyes widened in shock. “Oh, Grenth have mercy! There he goes…!”

The three soldiers surrounding him all had alarmed expressions on their faces, but soon they slowly faded away as stars began to spark up and obscure his sight. No more than a second after, he blacked out completely and fell backwards, threatening to hit the cobblestone road with a harsh thud. But thanks to the soldiers’ quick reflexes, he was caught and spared of such a painful incident.

“Bring him inside and get him some water, quick!” the sheriff commanded.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

Only a few minutes had gone by after the blood returned to Asterix’s head and he regained full consciousness, but not without the company of a stinging headache. Noticing how cold he was, the sheriff persuaded him to sit near the campfire, wrapped up in a cotton blanket. They offered him a well-filled bowl of hot soup, which he took gratefully. He took a few spoonfuls of the rich meal first, but then he cast the spoon aside like it were some liability, instead hungrily drinking it straight from the bowl with a sudden spark of enthusiasm. His dog was also fed some chunks of cooked beef they fished out from the soup. When he was done eating, he set the empty bowl aside and let out a contented sigh, and leaned back against one of the supply crates behind him for support.

“Thank you for all the help, and the soup,” he said, feeling sated but also rejuvenated. Even some of his color had returned. “It was delicious,” he added as an afterthought. Because indeed, it was genuinely the best thing he’d ever tasted in a long while.

“Ha! At least _someone_ appreciates me cookin’ skills,” the chef responded with a big smile on his face. The hulking, dark brown charr, who sat next to Asterix, shot the big norn an annoyed look. Asterix couldn’t help his curiosity toward the big, furry, feline soldier, and he stared a little. The large cat had four long cow ears and one set of two massive horns protruding from the back of his skull, and another, smaller set jutting out a little further below. And despite not hearing him talk yet, the metal, bronze-colored armor he wore indicated he was of an intelligent race. His mug was that of a wrinkly lion’s, long sharp fangs sticking out and overlapping his chops. He looked like a terrifying beast that nobody would want to get his bad side on. Especially not when he’s this well armed.

The burly cat’s green eyes suddenly shifted down at him, giving him a long, puzzled look back. The charr spoke up with a voice that had a deep, rumbling bass, “Something the matter? Feeling ill?”

Asterix muffled a tiny squeak, feeling a bit overwhelmed. He quickly looked down. “No, I’m fine… Feeling much better.” He watched Dogmatix give off a long yawn after the pup was done with his meal, stretching out his little paws over the cobblestone and then cuddling up next to him. The contagious act made Asterix stifle back a yawn, himself.

“Oh, good,” the cat-man answered back. “Was getting worried for a second there. You looked like you were about to keel over again!” The soldier chuckled, casting aside his own spoon in the same fashion as Asterix had, and pressing the bowl carefully to his chops, taking big, long slurps from it.

“So,” the sheriff began as she set her own, half-filled bowl of soup aside for later, “What’s your name, friend? And what horrible events made you end up the way you did?”

“Asterix,” he replied. “And, well…” He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck a bit. “I was held captive by Inquest. I’m not sure anymore how long, probably more than a week.”

“Welcome to Arterium Haven, Asterix. I’m sheriff Kol.” She got up and reached out a hand, not giving Asterix a chance to spend himself unnecessarily. He took the hand and gave it a firm shake. She then sat down and picked her bowl of soup back up. “The Inquest, eh? Quite a surprise you lived that long _and_ escaped in the end. Seems like the six true gods have smiled on you!”

“It would appear so,” Asterix said back with a fake smile. _These people have only six gods? They’re crazy!_ Suddenly, that reminded him... He had been wanting to ask something very important. “So, um, does anyone know which way it is to Gaul?”

The soldiers shot him a confused look. He gazed back at the bewildered faces. _That can’t be good._

Kol decided to break the awkward silence. “Gaul?”

“Yeah, you know, _Gaul_.”

“Sorry, I’m afraid nobody out here’s ever heard of Gaul,” the sheriff answered.

Asterix abruptly began to look anxious. “What do you mean, nobody’s ever heard of Gaul? It’s a Roman province! You know, Rome! Ever heard of Rome? Caesar?”

“We don’t know any places called Rome _or_ Caesar,” Kol shrugged remorsefully. “I’m terribly sorry.”

Asterix’s good helm-wing drooped down just as depressingly as his tattered one. He looked up to the star-lit sky, and his face suddenly lost what little color it had once more. He couldn’t recognize any of the stars from here. Not a single constellation he knew about could be found. Even the moon looked different. Larger, even. _This can’t be! It’s impossible!_ His breathing began to pick up pace and his heart sped up, his eyes desperate to find something- _anything-_ that he might recognize. But nothing! This isn’t just a strange, unknown world, it’s _another_ world entirely! The stars slowly began to spin.

“Uh oh… Guys! It’s happening again,” the charr said, as he carefully shifted his paw-like hand to stop the dizzy man from falling forward.

Asterix panted rapidly and raised a trembling hand to hold his forehead. He suddenly broke out in a sweat. “I…I don’t _understand_! How can this be!? _What is this place!?_ ” The commotion woke Dogmatix, and the pup started whining and pawing his other hand.

“Calm down, friend! You’re hyperventilating. Try to take deep breaths-”

“It’s no good. Those Inquest have driven him insane. He lives in his own world, now,” Kol told regretfully.

“N…no!” Asterix’s eyes shot up and looked at the woman, looking horribly distressed. “I’m not crazy! You have to believe me…!”

The sheriff looked remorsefully back into the man’s brown eyes. They didn’t look deluded like that of a lunatic; she has seen people driven into madness by Inquest before. Instead, they were begging for understanding. He certainly didn’t seem insane moments before. Maybe there was still some hope left, that he might recover from his mental trauma. Eventually, she raised her head at the soldier holding him up.

“He needs rest. Give him something that will help him sleep. We’ll see how he’s doing tomorrow, and figure out what’s to become of him…”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

The remainder of the night had been long and absent of haunting dreams. Or any dreams at all, for that matter. A blazingly hot summer sun had begun to rise and its light shone through the fort tower’s open window, lighting up a small room and warming it. The humidity of the jungle was making the heat very unpleasant outside, and soon, it would become unpleasant indoors too. But for the time being, the Gaul and his dog were still sleeping comfortably on a soft mat that had been rolled out on the floor for them. A thin cotton blanket was spread over the short man, which was meant to protect him from more attacks from mosquitos overnight. But their slumber was soon interrupted by the creeping hot light shining into his face. He groaned in an annoyed fashion and rolled around to hide his face into the shadow. Dogmatix flicked an ear at the noise, and woke up. The animal stretched himself lazily and let out a long yawn.

The pup reached a hind paw to his ear and scratched it. He glanced about a little, brown eyes absorbing the surroundings, and a big black wet nose sniffing intently. He suddenly perked up his white and black ears at a closed, wooden door, hearing voices of people behind it. He began to growl and bark, which in turn, made his human shift around in his bed and emit a disturbed grumble.

“Dogmatix…please,” his voice groaned. “I’m not in the mood for a walk… Go play with Obel-”

But then he realized, they weren’t in Gaul. That warm sun tricked him into believing he was home again. For a moment, Asterix just laid there quietly until he heaved a long, bitter sigh. Slowly, he sat up, rubbing the sleep from his tired eyes.

“Poor Obelix…” he muttered despondently. The big Gaul was now without his best friend and his pet for more than a week. How was he faring with this? And the rest of the village? How were they holding up without them? And what of his poor, inconsolable parents? He had many questions, questions that could not be answered. It made him feel hopelessly miserable. He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. It would be better for him to focus on his own situation right now. It wouldn’t be wise getting himself stressed over problems he would have loved to solve, but simply couldn’t. He let down his other hand to give Dogmatix a comforting pat, to silence the pup. He could hear there were people conversing outside. Probably traveling merchants, he assumed.

Asterix fumbled his mustache and laid out the past events in his mind, deducing what would become his next course of action. The goal was obvious: to get home. But how? Who knows where home might be, and how he’s going to get there. He first leaned toward the experimental portal the Inquest used. It’s because of them that he got here in the first place. But he didn’t quite feel like casually knocking at their doors to ask for a quick ride home…

Casting aside his worries for a moment, he got up and looked to see where the Lionguard put his stuff. He found them laid tidily next to freshly washed and dried clothes… wait, those are _his_ clothes! He glanced down. He just stood there, in his dirtied bandages and old underwear! He could feel his face flushing red. First thing’s first: he needs a bath!

He very carefully opened the door to outside so only his head could be seen, and asked sheriff Kol, who was already out keeping watch, if they had something he could wash himself with. She laughed heartily at the little man’s humiliating display, telling him that the color red fit him well, much better than that milky white he had been sporting before. But then, she had her men provide him a large brass kettle to serve as a tub, a bar of soap, a towel and a mirror, accompanied with a sharp razor, so he could shave off the stubble he had grown. He rid himself of the old bandages, and thankfully, the wounds he had were nicely healed. Vamma’s care and special healing salves had paid off well. All there was left was scar tissue that gave away he had once been bitten by a terrible beast, but he could live with that.

After he was clean and dressed, it was Dogmatix’s turn, who, in all honesty, didn’t agree to bath time at all, and he showed his disapproval by putting up a struggle, yelping and howling dismally until it was finally over. While drying the wet animal with a towel, Asterix muttered words of comfort at the pup. “There, that wasn’t so bad, was it? Next we’ll have some breakfast, and then we’ll stock up and be on our way.” He looked up thoughtfully. “The road will probably lead to a town, or a city. It would be nice if we know where we’re going, though…” He looked around, and soon, three continental maps hanging on a wall, where a table was set against, caught his attention. The first and biggest one seemed to be the main map, while two smaller ones hung beside it, displaying other, faraway lands. Asterix got up from his knees after drying Dogmatix off, and he opened the door to let some light inside. He then went and placed both hands on the wooden table to inspect the bigger map a little closer. The miffed pup shook out his fur and sneered, and hopped outside and down the stairs, making sure to stay in the haven so he wouldn’t get lost.

It really was true, then. The paper chart Asterix saw hanging on the wall showed nothing he was familiar with. The continents were aligned differently. There was no Roman empire to be seen, nor any Gaul for that matter. He saw the scribbles of an illegible name at the bottom of the map. It’s symbols were all but readable to him. He got closer and squinted, completely absorbed into deciphering what it was saying. The first symbol was quite simple. But what came after it was nothing like he had ever seen. He subconsciously began to mutter. “That first one looks like a T, but what is that next one? L? I?”

“It reads ‘Tyria’.” a feminine, accented voice answered.

Asterix yelped and threw himself back, clutching the table for support. He saw the figure of a young woman leaning herself against the doorway. She held Dogmatix in one hand as she scratched his head endearingly with her other. The little dog appeared to enjoy it very much.

“Oh, did I interrupt you in something important?” she questioned with an excited tone in her voice, her big bright crimson eyes examining the Gaul curiously. He remembered those eyes. He saw them back in the Inquest facility, as he escaped. This woman was one of the colorful people who attacked the Inquest… But this time, she was no blur; she looked like she were made of… plants? Her clothing was made entirely out of bright blue leaves, curling out into different directions. Her hair was a colorful bouquet of large white and blue petals. And even her skin was plant matter; a piney green. Out of all the new species of creatures he had seen here, she was probably the prettiest of them all so far.

“I-I’m terribly sorry! I didn’t know you were…watching.” Asterix stammered, straightening himself quickly.

The leafy woman giggled. “It’s quite all right,” she replied with a soft tone. “I still remember you from yesterday. It’s good to see you got out in one piece. And you look a lot better than you did before.” She smiled and looked down at the little white terrier in her hands. “I saw this little guy loping about in the haven. He’s such a little sweetheart. He’s yours, right?”

“Yes, he is,” Asterix answered. He looked down at the pup, noticing the animal was completely absorbed by the girl’s light head scratching. “He seems to have taken a liking to you, miss…?”

“Liliwen of the Wardens.”

“Nice to meet you, Liliwen,” he said and held out a hand. “I’m Asterix, Gaul.”

Liliwen shifted her hand momentarily away from the little pup to shake his. “Likewise!” She resumed petting Dogmatix. “Gaul? That’s a surname I haven’t heard before,” she said cheerfully. “Are you Ascalonian? You look Ascalonian. I’ve met Krytan and Elonian humans before, but never Ascalonians. Oh! Please say you are!”

Asterix forgot, these people didn’t know about his homeland. He was about to correct her, but then he remembered how _well_ that ended last time, and quickly decided against the idea. “…Yes,” he lied. Better to not to make a fool of himself again. Liliwen began to giggle loudly and blush a bright golden yellow as she cheerfully bounced up and down on her heels at the confirmation.

“Oh! I nearly forgot,” she said, correcting herself immediately and setting a slightly dizzy Dogmatix back to the floor. “The sheriff told me you were held captive by the Inquest for longer than a week,” she continued. “Is that true?”

“Yes.”

“Do you mind if I take a look at something?” Liliwen asked.

“Well n…no, I…I don’t see why I would…” _By Toutatis! Stop stammering, you big idiot!_

The girl came closer and got down to a squat, taking him gently by the wrist and inspecting his arm thoroughly. She then looked at his other arm, finding nothing but mosquito bites. “Please turn around, if you would,” she instructed. He turned so his back would face the young woman, and she pulled at his tunic a bit to inspect his neck. Nothing, but then she turned to his shoulder blades, and there it was, the thing she had been fearing to see. She let off a sigh of disappointment.

“What? Is something wrong?”

“I’m afraid so. The Inquest marked you.”

Asterix suddenly felt a shiver of unease roll down his spine. “What do you mean, _marked_ me?”

Liliwen stood up to her feet and cast a grim look at the Gaul as he turned back to her. “It’s a common practice for Inquest to mark their most successful test subjects with a special tattoo. They use their data crystals, pulverized and mixed into the ink, so they can use it to track you down in case you escape.”

Asterix abruptly turned pale at the information he received. He even knew what it meant; it meant he had been leaving a trail like a wounded deer in the snow the whole time. “What? They know where I am!?”

“Probably not yet.” Liliwen pondered. “Our last attack on them should leave them stumped for a while. My fellow sylvari and I smashed much of their equipment.” she said as her face lit up in a mischievous smile. “But, eventually, they _will_ come looking for you. They have hidden facilities dotted all over Tyria.”

The Gaul felt his stomach twist into a knot. Now he understood why he was so important to that Klipp guy. He was his most prized experiment, and that tattoo on his back was proof of it. And things were certain that the nasty asura would not let him roam free for long. “What can I do?” he asked hopefully, wishing that Liliwen would provide him an answer.

“The best way to not get caught again? Have a tattoo artist remove it,” she mused.

“Then I’ll find one,” Asterix immediately decided. A short moment passed when his good helm-wing knocked aside in befuddlement. “…Any clue where I could find one?”

Liliwen smiled at the little ‘Ascalonian’. “I do happen to know someone who’s much of an expert,” she smiled. “She lives in Hoelbrak. Margrit Strolfdottir, is her name.”

“Great! Where is Hoelbrak?”

Liliwen looked up at the map hanging on the wall and approached it. She reached out a finger and pressed down on an area to the eastern half of the map, surrounded by mountains. “Hoelbrak is right here, in the Shiverpeak Mountains,” she said. She then shifted her finger all the way to the south-west, skipping an entire country, and stopping just barely at the edge of where the chart stopped. “And we are right here, in the Maguuma Jungle.”

Asterix’s motivated stance from earlier quickly changed into that of defeat. “I’m never going to reach that place in time. They’ll catch me!”

“If you traveled only by foot, yes, but there is a much simpler and faster way,” Liliwen said. “All you have to do is reach the nearest city first, travel by asura gate to Lion’s Arch, and then you can easily reach Hoelbrak in no time.”

“What?”

Liliwen looked back at the confused man. “You haven’t seen much of this world, have you?”

“Not really…” Asterix answered sheepishly. The sylvari gave him a confused look. How was it possible for a human to be completely oblivious of the fastest way of travel on Tyria? He must have a little screw loose…

“All right, then. You can travel together with me. I’ll bring you to my home city,” she told. “I’ll show you how to get to Hoelbrak from there.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

And with that, the two stocked up and prepared themselves for their upcoming travels. Asterix thanked Kol personally for all the things she and her men had done for him, while Liliwen waved off her other sylvari friends who had stopped by at Arterium Haven to take a break from Inquest bashing. Before they left, Asterix was provided with a weapon; a pistol from the Lionguard, accompanied with a small pouch of little marbles made from lead. They were, unfortunately, fresh out of swords. He wasn’t sure how this ‘weapon’ could be used, but Liliwen promised she would show him as they traveled. Soon they were both on their way, Dogmatix trotting closely at Liliwen’s heels.

“By the way,” Asterix began as they hit the road through the jungle, “how do you know so much about the Inquest, when they’re so secretive about what they do?”

“It’s simple, Liliwen answered. She took a long leaf of her sleeve and raised it so Asterix could see her bare arm. Her shoulder was riddled with a gold-tinted scar from long past. “I was once one of their prized captives.”

Asterix lowered his head regretfully, knowing the pain she had suffered. “Oh, I’m sorry about that.”

“Why? It’s not your fault. Besides,” Liliwen continued. “if it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t have joined the Wardens to punish the Inquest and help free those who still suffer because of them. It helps me cope better with my past.”

Asterix shot a smile at the sylvari. “That’s good, then.


	6. Firebringer

“How much further is it to the Grove again?”

“Shh! We’re entering Nightmare Court territory now. You can talk again when we’re past the Wychmire Swamp.”

That silenced Asterix quickly, but he wasn’t happy about it, not in the least. He had been warned about the Nightmare Court by Liliwen beforehand. _Nasty sylvari. If they see you, it’s too late._ It was short and to the point. He and Liliwen had been walking for the whole day. His patience was running thin. So were his reserves of energy, especially with the heavy bag hanging on his back. Even Dogmatix was once again fitted into his collar so the animal could have some rest. And now they were in enemy lands once again, trudging through a smelly, murky swamp. The water got up to his knees. _Lovely_.

But it was him who insisted to _not_ take the shortcut that led right past the Inquest facility, and the only other road went north, then east, then south again. It was a big loop around the building, but it meant they stayed away from that horrible place by at least a mile.

He didn’t think that the botanic people could have a nasty side. He learned and discovered much of their wondrous kind in the short period of time he traveled with Liliwen, and all of those experiences had been good, so far. He learned that they were actually a very young race, having only arrived to the world of Tyria less than thirty years ago, when their source of origin, the Pale Tree, began to bloom and ‘awakened’ the first of sylvari, fully formed as adults and ready to explore. Asterix even met more sylvari on the road. They came in all kinds of vibrant colors and forms, their skins varying from soft plant tissue to hard bark, and their hair varying from roses and dandelions to branches and mushrooms. They were always very cheerful, a little intrusive, sometimes, and most of all: curious. Not just curious about him, but curious about _everything,_ much like Liliwen. Except she had a little more experience. The fact they were literally a sentient and intelligent species of plant sparked in him a fascination towards their kind and their ways of life.

They crossed a deeper part of the swamp using fallen, rotting tree logs. Liliwen whispered it was safe to cross, but Asterix still had issues trusting the musty old logs. He ended up keeping one hand close to the rough surface to grab on to in case he slipped, and he kept his other hand close to the leather holster attached to his belt, in case enemies would see them and he had to pull out his revolver. He wasn’t really ready to use it yet; he was shown how it worked, how to load it, and how to aim and shoot, but he never used it, and hoped he wouldn’t need to any time soon. He quickly hopped off the last tree log after he finally crossed it. But as he came closer to Liliwen, the sylvari halted him with a swift motion of her hand, signing to stop.

“Enemies approaching,” she hissed under her breath. Asterix crouched down and remained perfectly quiet, waiting for the next instruction.

“There’s two of them. Didn’t see us yet,” Liliwen told. “Stay here and stay low. I’m going to take them out.”

“What if something goes wrong?” Asterix whispered back questionably.

“It won’t. Trust me.” She looked back and smiled, then she raised her hand, and from the base of her palm, smoke began to form until she was enveloped in it. When the smoke dissipated, she was gone. It all happened within just seconds, leaving Asterix blinking like an idiot. He remained there, waiting, hushing the growling Dogmatix in his collar. Soon, he saw the two figures. They were indeed Nightmare courtiers, that was instantly recognizable from their silhouettes; their armor was that of twisted branches and sharp thorns, and they both glowed a sickly green. That was another useful thing Asterix had learned; a large majority of all sylvari inherited bioluminescence. Patterns on their bodies would light up like candles when it got dark. It was useful for finding Liliwen in a pinch, but also for spotting the enemy before they saw him.

“Hold on, I think I heard something,” the first courtier, a woman, spoke up.

“Probably just a skelk. Don’t start _hearing_ things now, our patrol shift is almost over and I’m getting hungry,” the other courtier answered.

“You _fool_! If we don’t do our work properly, we’ll soon have a Warden army on our heads. What do you think Faolain would think of us if we allowed them to take this land? What will _your_ excuse be? ‘ _I was hungry’_?”

“Faolain, the Grand Duchess? A coward. She left this place to rot since her _lover_ chased her out-”

The courtier’s voice was suddenly cut short, a dagger boring deep into his neck as he gurgled and collapsed in front of the female. But there was nobody else near them. Her eyes widened in shock. An assassin! She quickly turned and made for her base, but then she felt the weight of the invisible assaulter landing on her back, and the blade pierced deep into her back and reached her heart. Just like that, they were both gone.

Asterix had only stared in dreaded awe, witnessing Liliwen reappear from her invisible form shortly after she cold-bloodedly murdered the two Nightmare courtiers. This was a dark twist of events he hadn’t expected. She just went and killed two of her own kind. They were enemies, sure, but coming from the same tree, they were also her _siblings,_ in a way. He quickly found himself wishing they had taken the shortcut after all.

The red-glowing silhouette of Liliwen glanced around, until she looked back and faced Asterix. She raised a hand to beckon him. It was safe again. Hesitantly, he got up and walked toward her, looking down at the two dead sylvari as he approached them. Their skins no longer pulsed their foxfire, as golden blood slowly drained from their bodies and mixed with the swamp water.

“Why did you have to kill them?” he half-whispered the question. His tone sounded lugubrious. Liliwen felt his sympathy. It was just as strong as her own. But she knew that the Nightmare Court could not be reasoned with. She regretted that he had to watch the bloody scene, but it would have happened eventually anyway.

“I’m sorry. But you must know, these people are not what they once were.” she answered. “If they catch us, they will torture me into becoming one of them, and kill you,” she eventually added as an afterthought, hoping he would understand her reason behind what she did.

Asterix stared into Liliwen’s glowing red eyes, until he slowly lowered his head. “I’m sorry. I understand,” he said, but the tone in his voice indicated that even though he did understand, it didn’t mean he agreed with her actions.

“Come on, it’s not safe to linger here. We should be out of the swamp soon.” Liliwen sheathed her dagger and continued to walk. Asterix looked back at the bodies for a short moment before he picked up pace and followed her. When they were finally out of the murky swamp, Liliwen paused to let Asterix take a moment to wring out his soaked leather shoes. He let Dogmatix out for a moment to let the dog do his business. He had been whining and wiggling an awful lot after the small run-in with the Nightmare Court.

“So what was that magic you used earlier?” Asterix finally spoke up. They were out of the swamp now, which meant that it was time to ask questions again.

“Magic?” the sylvari asked, blinking. “Oh right, _that_! It’s just a simple invisibility trick,” she said as she shrugged. “It’s nothing special, hardly any magic involved. Though it’s a bit difficult to master.”

A single wing perked up from Asterix’s helm. His curiosity piqued more than ever. “Would you mind teaching me something like that?”

Liliwen hummed at the thought, “I wouldn’t mind. It’ll help you if you get into trouble again. Let’s give it a try when we’re in Mabon. We’ll be staying there for the night, and you can get your shirt fixed there.” She smiled a cheeky grin at Asterix. He returned the smile back as he put on his shoes again. Dogmatix quickly rejoined the two after he had finished wiping his little paws over the thick moist grass.

They made a quick stop at Caledon Haven, another Lionguard post. They ate there and went on their way again. Swamplands were now replaced with jungle once more, and one that was far more beautiful than the last, it was almost a garden. The flora and fauna were much healthier here, filled with blooming flowers of all shapes, colors and sizes. Asterix assumed this was made possible by the sylvari. He stopped for a moment to absorb the surroundings, brilliantly lit by an evening sun. He was so distracted that Liliwen had to call him.

“Don’t wander off! It’s getting dark soon.”

Asterix snapped out of his trance and looked toward Liliwen, who was quite a bit further up the hill. Dogmatix was with her too, barking at him excitedly. _When did they get all the way up there?_ He started climbing the hill to reach them, but halfway up, he took a wrong step. He suddenly felt the thin surface of branches and leaves shift under his foot. A trap!? He yelped as he vanished under the ground. “ _Skritt!_ ” Liliwen cursed. She rushed over to the scene, but it was too late.

Asterix tumbled down the small tunnel until he hit the floor with a thud. “Ow!” He laid there for a few seconds until he opened his eyes. It was dark, stuffy, and it smelled like…like an untended animal farm. He groaned in annoyance. _Now what?_

“Asterix! Asterix, are you all right!?” Liliwen’s voice called down from the hole he fell through. He pushed himself from the floor, taking in his surroundings when his eyes had adjusted. The walls were hammered with wooden planks, iron bars, and all kinds of things that appeared to have been scavenged by something, or _someone_.

“I’m fine,” he called back, rubbing a slightly strained neck.

“Good. Stay where you are, I’ll find a way to get you out,” she replied. “Oh! If you see any skritt, shoot them!”

“ _Shoot_ them? What do you mean?”

But she was already gone. Asterix blinked in befuddlement. Apparently, he must have fallen down a skritt den. But why would he want to shoot any? Were these skritt not friendly, then? He quickly reached at his holster and pulled out the revolver. It was already loaded beforehand, just in case. He flipped the hammer of the gun down. It was now ready to fire, but _he_ wasn’t. He trembled nervously and breathed fast, with the weapon firmly held in his hand. His index danced around the trigger guard, but it never actually came close to the trigger. He was afraid to do so. He took a good look at the room he fell in. It was more of a tunnel, rather. A golden light shone dimly in the distance. A way out?

Liliwen told him to stay where he was, though. But could it hurt to just take a peek? He swallowed and took a long, deep breath before he carefully walked across the dirt and metal floor, his revolver primed. He turned his head around the corner, but rather than what he had hoped to find, he discovered a dead end. It was not necessarily a bad thing, though; contained within this room was a small hoard of treasure. Filled with copper, silver and gold coins, and all sorts of other shimmering objects such as armor and glazed pottery. An old recycled asuran lamp lit the room, and its light reflected in the treasure trove. An indication that the skritt were actually quite versed at figuring things out, and had a strong fascination for shiny objects. This was not what Asterix had expected at all, but then he pondered. Maybe it was alright if he rummaged through the pile a bit, to see if he could find something useful in there. The skritt wouldn’t mind, right?

He fitted the revolver back into its holster and got closer. Ever so carefully, he dug a hand into the pile and shifted coins aside, hoping that he didn’t make too much noise. Something suddenly glinted in the corner of his eye, and he turned to look. Another stash was there, but instead of money, these were weapons. Enormous war hammers, sharp battle axes, long and short bows, and even great pistols with big handles and long snouts. One would need to hold such a thing with two hands instead of one. He took a quick handful of coins and pocketed them, then got up and inspected the weapon stash further. There were swords. Swords in all shapes and sizes, but they were all too big or too little. One of them was so large a norn or charr could make better use of it.

But then, he found it. The perfect fit; a short sword, shaped much like a Roman gladius, was carelessly laid there within the great pile. It looked like nothing special, it had a slim hilt and double-edged blade, much like what he used to have himself. It was worn, indicating it was a favored weapon of its last owner and had met the throats of many, but that didn’t bother him. A sword is a sword, no matter how old it was or what it had been used for. He could buy a better one later. He walked up to the pile of weaponry and reached a hand for the hilt, and slowly lifted the small blade out of the pile. It sparked responsively in his grip, making strained effort to ignite itself, but then, the sword burst out in flames, engulfing its blade.

Surprised, Asterix jerked back and dropped the sword, and the blade’s impact on the floor made a resonating clang. The flames died shortly after. He continued to stare at the sword for a while. He blinked, dumbfounded by its sorcery. “What in the name of…” He looked around quickly, nobody who lived here appeared to have heard it. Recollecting his courage, he took the sword once again. This time, the sword’s response was faster, igniting its blade again as soon as he took a firm hold of its hilt. It was as though Asterix had woken it from a long undisturbed slumber.

_Witchcraft,_ Asterix thought to himself, as he lifted the sword up inspect it. The flames didn’t even feel hot at his hand that was firmly wrapped around the grip. Curiously, he tried to touch the blade… “Ouch!” Okay, _that_ hurt. Best not to try that again. He looked down at his scorched fingers; they stung intensely.

Asterix shifted his eyes back at the sword, its flames were bright and hot. He suddenly remembered his empty scabbard… Looking down at it, he contemplated if it would work. He placed his burnt hand on the scabbard, hissing slightly at the touch, and aligned the sword carefully. Then, with a swift move, he slid the blade into it. The scabbard warmed slightly, until he let go of the hilt, and it cooled once more. The sheath fit around it like a glove. What luck! He now didn’t just have a sword; he had a magic sword. _That one’s a keeper!_

“Who’re you!? What’re you doing!?”

Asterix flinched and shot a glance back, and immediately a thin rusty blade was held out at his chest. He quickly raised both hands in surrender. Three of the skritt had cornered him, each of them carrying weapons.

The first skritt with the rusty sword chittered angrily. “ _Thief!_ Think you could take our shinies, did you? Did you?” He poked the blade lightly at Asterix, making him stagger backwards. He didn’t want to get pricked by that dirty old thing. Who knows where it might have been.

“I’m sorry! I got here by accident. I didn’t take anything,” Asterix lied.

The rat-like creature flicked his ears. “Oh?” He turned around toward the other two skritt. They both shrugged obliviously. The first one then looked back at Asterix, scanning him up and down.

The skritt hummed thoughtfully. “Not sure. How do we know you’re not liaring?” he questioned as he squinted his black spheres suspiciously.

“You mean, not a liar, or not lying?”

“ _Pffegh_!” The skritt waved his skinny hand about in annoyance. “Don’t be smarty-pants!” He suddenly lifted the sword higher up to meet Asterix’s face. “Tell the truth! How do we know you’re not liaring?”

Asterix gulped when the blade came closer to him, his hands were still high in the air. That gave him an idea. “I have nothing in my hands, see?” He wiggled his fingers a bit, hoping the skritt would be fooled. The three stared at his hands for a while.

“It’s true, nothing in his hands,” another skritt piped up.

“Nothing, not even a coin,” the third one said.

The first scratched an ear, pondering, and eventually he lowered his sword. “Alright, then. Not a thief.” Asterix puffed a sigh in relief. These skritt could be reasoned with. He didn’t need to defend himself.

“But you’re still on _our_ turf!” The three skritt suddenly sneered and raised their weapons. “Kill it!”

Never mind, now was a good time to defend himself! He quickly drew out the sword in his scabbard, as well as the revolver in his other hand. As if led by instinct, his index finger immediately brushed the trigger, just not powerfully enough to pull it. “Get back! I’m not afraid to use them!” But in truth, he _was_ afraid.

The skritt backed away a little at the sight of the fiery sword, for only a moment, but then they pressed forward anyway, knowing they were greater in numbers. A little man like that would be easy enough to overpower. Then they could have his stuff too. Asterix was the one backing away now, but he had nowhere to go. He had really hoped not to be needing to use his revolver, not this soon. _Squeeze the trigger gently, don’t press it forcefully_ , he reminded himself with Liliwen’s teachings. He raised the gun high, aiming it to the ceiling, and slowly he pressed his finger down against the trigger until it fired a warning shot, the bullet boring into the earth and the loud noise echoing through the room and the tunnels. This was the first time he ever used the gun, and it almost left him having a stroke, the crackling boom piercing his eardrums painfully. So much even that he no longer could hear a thing. Nothing except the loud high-pitched tone ringing in his head. The three skritt each dropped their weapons, and they yelped and cowered. Their rat ears were far more sensitive than his. They cried in despair and cupped their tortured ears with their hands. He glanced at the tormented creatures. They were far too distracted to get back at him anymore.

He took his chances and leapt past the three skritt, no point in waiting for Liliwen anymore now, he had to get out of here, and fast. His deafness was disorienting; being unable to hear anyone coming down the tunnels left him running down whichever tunnel came next. Very slowly, though, his ears were recovering, though they continued to hurt. He could hear the half-silenced voice of Liliwen calling, but he couldn’t tell from where. He stopped at one gap of daylight above him and instead, he called out to her.

“Liliwen! Liliwen, I’m here!”

Asterix looked around frantically, completely lost in the maze of tunnels he was in. _Not this again…_ At least he had _decent_ weapons this time. He had kept them both in his hands the whole time, the familiarity of holding a sword made him feel a little more confident, but the situation was still dire. His impaired hearing detected noises coming from the tunnels. Great, more skritt. And indeed, there they came from every corner, in great numbers. Even better, he was trapped in the middle, the only thing accompanying him was the light shining down on him through the hole, and a dangling rope hanging out of it.

Wait a minute, rope? Liliwen’s voice called at him again from above. “Grab it, hurry!”

He sheathed both his weapons and gripped the rope tight. He heard more voices coming from above, and very soon, the rope was pulled up at incredible speed. The skritt below him shouted angrily, throwing rocks at him but only barely missing him. After some more hauling, he was finally back to the surface, greeted by Dogmatix and Liliwen, and a small crowd of cheering sylvari. It made him wince and pull his hands to his ears.

“Everything all right? I heard a gunshot,” Liliwen quickly asked. Her face was frowning anxiously, checking him for injury.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Asterix groaned. “Just hurt my ears when I used the gun… That thing is loud.”

“So it _was_ you,” she suddenly smiled, the cloak of worry lifting from her face. “How did it feel? It’s thrilling, isn’t it?”

“I think I prefer swords,” Asterix answered dully. “Good thing I found a good one down there.”

“You _stole_ from them?” Liliwen couldn’t help but laugh. “You little scamp! And I didn’t even teach you any thieving skills yet!”

Asterix looked up at Liliwen in confusion. She’s a thief? And why was she being so open about it? Nobody around them appeared to mind that she was. They were just happy he was safe again. Soon, they all walked back, and the two arrived at their final destination for the day: the small market of Mabon. Dusk had settled in, and the moon began to peek over the woods, lighting the shores at which the small market stood.

The market was, surprisingly, made almost entirely out of plants, grown and guided by sylvari to serve their needs. They were made into houses, shops and even carts and lanterns. They visited a tailor to have the holes in Asterix’s tunic fixed. The tailor did so expertly using strong silk thread, and after he was finished, Asterix insisted he would pay himself, and he gave the sylvan man the fee that was asked of him. It was no more than a silver coin. Liliwen smiled at Asterix approvingly, although if it was for being polite or for stealing from the skritt, he was not sure. Finally, they settled in a small empty house, made out of the enormous curling leaves that formed its walls and roof.

Like before, Asterix was spent. He let out a long yawn after he had laid his belongings down next to him and sat down on the bed he rolled out from his backpack. He gave Dogmatix a reassuring pat as the little dog got comfortable on the bedding. His hearing had recovered completely, although loud noises still stung a little bit. He reminded himself to have the revolver adjusted tomorrow, if possible, so it wouldn’t make so much noise. He watched Liliwen roll out her own bed. When she turned around, she glanced down at his hand. “Oh my! You’re hurt,” she spoke up.

Asterix looked down at his burnt fingers, and he felt the stinging return. “Oh, right. I kind of burned myself, a little. It’s nothing serious.”

“Nothing serious? It’s all red! Here, let me help,” Liliwen said. She rummaged into her own backpack, taking out a small jar of salve. “This is special salve made by my kind. It helps speed healing on any ailment, and wards off infection.” She took out a thin lick of the green goop in her hand, and coaxed him to hold out his hand. He winced slightly when it came into contact with the burns. It first felt painful, but then it began to cool.

“There, much better,” Liliwen smiled, and she closed the pot firmly.

“Thanks,” Asterix said. “And thank you for not giving up on me,” he added, looking down a bit shamefully. “I got myself into some deep trouble there. I should have paid better attention. I’m sorry.”

“Nobody saw it coming, little scamp,” Liliwen grinned. She just went and picked that as a nickname for him. “And you got out alive and well. That’s what matters.” Sweet Liliwen, optimistic as usual. She put the salve back into her bag. “Now, let’s get to sleep. We should arrive at the Grove tomorrow around late noon.”

“Right. Good night, sleep well.”

“Sleep tight! Pleasant dreams.”


	7. The Road to Hoelbrak

The soft warmth of the sun crept through the oaken woods, chasing the dark of the night away and waking the flowers of spring. A small village, surrounded by wooden fortifications, and housing no more than fifty humble Gauls, laid peacefully at the shore, as though nothing bad there ever happened. As it should have been.

The sky was dotted with bright-pink clouds of dawn, hardly enough to call it a cloudy day. The village’s people awakened upon the crowing of the rooster, and they all peacefully went about their daily lives. Anvils rang with the collision of their hammers, a bard sung a fine melody and led laughing children to school as they waved their mothers goodbyes, and fish, fresh as it gets, were selling like hot cakes. It was a dreamy place, until a groan of the earth rumbled below, and the sun vanished behind the clouds that grew greyer and darker every second. The grass turned red with blood that leaked out of the ground as if the earth itself was bleeding.

The sea drew back from the shores as something rose from the waters. Tall, black spikes emerged and pierced out toward the sky, reaching as high as the clouds themselves. The featherless wings and scaled back of a great beast began to form from beneath the waves, rising high up into the sky, until its ugly black head showed. White slit eyes flashed open, gazing down upon the panicked village of Armorica. They were helpless against the monster. White smoke belched out from its nostrils, and ten-thousands of blood-crimson fangs glinted in its horrifying smile.

The shadow of the great, winged lizard loomed over the land, darkening all that it touched. White flames crept from underneath its feet as it firmed its grip on the red-stained earth. Its growl was that of an earthquake. It spread its wings wide, spanning them from one horizon to the other, great tornadoes of white fire blowing out from them with but the twitch of a muscle. It raised its enormous, spiked head, and bellowed an earth-shattering roar. Pale flames spouted from its maw.

And just like that, the entire land was set ablaze. People screamed in agony. They were calling someone’s name, crying and begging. For aid. For mercy. For their gods to release them from the torment.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

Asterix yelled out, waking himself. _“No!”_ His eyes flung wide open, though they were heavy with sleep. It was still dark, though the room made of leaves was dimly lit by the soft red foxfire of his sylvan friend. _Ugh._ That horrible dream again. It had been haunting him ever since he came to Tyria, becoming worse every time he had it. It began when he was still held captive by the Inquest, where the nightmare started out with a shadow, looming over his home with fangs as long as trees. Now, it was a dragon that destroyed everything in its path, bright white flames consuming all it touched. Sometimes he wondered how he was even able to catch any sleep at all, with that monster waiting for him to close his eyes so it could torment him again.

He sighed. He heard Dogmatix give a quiet weep, the poor thing. He seemed to have woken the animal in his fitful sleep. He shifted to his side, intending to give the pup a comforting pet. But when he did, he saw Liliwen, sitting up from her bed, her green-blue arms wrapped around her legs, and her big, crimson eyes staring at him.

“I’m really sorry… Did I wake you?”

“No,” the sylvari answered, a small smile formed on her face. “I just decided to stay awake tonight.”

“What? Why?”

Liliwen simply shrugged her shoulders, and she stopped smiling, instead examining him intently. Was she watching him sleep? “What did you dream about?” she asked abruptly.

Asterix blinked back at her, stifling a yawn. He laid his head back on the pillow and stroked Dogmatix over his back. “About home,” he answered in a muttering tone. He decided against sharing more details than that. “What time is it?” he eventually questioned.

“It’s still dark. Try to get some more sleep.” Liliwen answered. Asterix nodded quietly. It took a while, but he eventually slipped back to sleep, this time, without dragons haunting him.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

When the summer sun rose from the jungle treetops again, the town of Mabon quickly resumed daily routines, transforming from a quiet sleeping hamlet into a bustling market. This time, other than the sylvari traders, there was also a crew, or rather, a ‘krewe’ of two asura, performing an odd experiment using a type of living ooze. And yet another unknown species, a race of bird-men with tusks, were offering their weaponry as trade to customers. After some morning routines, Asterix made a quick stop by a sylvari blacksmith on his own, asking the man if he could get his revolver adjusted to make less sound when firing it.

It was done within a flash. The blacksmith disassembled the gun and made the necessary changes, after which he expertly reassembled it. He even took it for a quick test-run after the adjustments were made, loading the revolver with one of his own bullets, taking out a practice target, and offhandedly shooting into it. It was almost scary at how casually he went about it, but the gun was making significantly less noise than it did yesterday and still functioned perfectly otherwise. The price was twenty silver, which translated into one fifth of a gold coin. Asterix paid for the service and rejoined Liliwen, and soon they resumed on their travels.

They walked by the thin beach of Ventry Bay. Sometimes, Dogmatix would walk closer to the shore, watching tiny rainbow-colored jellyfish floating about in the salty water’s surface, until Asterix called him and the pup dashed over the sand to catch up. Soon they steered southwards, leaving the bay, and hit the southern section of the jungle. The remainder of their travels went peacefully and without unexpected hold-ups. Asterix greeted people they passed on the road each time, taking off his helmet and nodding a smile. Most of them were sylvari, but there were also friendly asura, humans, and even some wayfaring charr. Most of the time, they returned the gesture. Before long, the silhouette of an enormous, majestic tree came into sight, with pastel pink leaves so large several Roman camps could fit on one. The tree towered above all else, its boughs reaching high past the clouds and its roots curling out into all directions. Asterix couldn’t help but gawk at the sight.

“By Toutatis, that tree! It’s humongous!”

“That’s the Pale Tree, our mother.” Liliwen answered, smiling.

_Oops…_ ”Well, she’s quite a sight— I mean, she’s…beautiful,” Asterix quickly corrected. How does someone compliment a tree?

Liliwen laughed merrily. “Look at you, you’re turning all red! Did you burn yourself again?” she asked. Asterix quickly shook his head dismissively.

“Also, who is Toutatis?”

Asterix’s flushed face turned even redder. “Oh…uh…far-flung uncle,” he blurted. He prayed to the god for forgiveness in silence.

“That’s interesting! Your family uses rather odd names.”

Asterix just nodded blindly.

Liliwen slowed in her step as they entered yet another sylvan settlement. “This is the village of Astorea. The Grove is just beyond it. You can reach Lion’s Arch and Hoelbrak from there.” She stopped and glanced around. “Before we enter, did you still want to learn that stealth trick?”

The good wing on Asterix’s helm flitted up attentively. He totally forgot about that. “Oh! Yes, please.”

“Come along, then,” Liliwen said, and she walked over to a training area. They passed some sylvari who were practicing their combat there, slamming and slashing their weapons into wooden dummies. Oddly enough, even their weapons were grown from plants, yet it was amazing how effective they were, often leaving the practice dummies in disrepair and in need of replacement. Their coach cheered them on, complimenting them as they thrashed their helpless, unfeeling victims.

The two walked a bit further until they were at a safe distance from the trainees. “Here is nice,” Liliwen spoke up. She suddenly began to giggle uncontrollably. “Oh, this is _so_ exciting! I’ve never taught anyone stealth before!”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” Asterix answered with a grin.

“All right, let’s see…” The sylvari hummed and tapped a finger to her lips, thinking. “Let’s start with loosening up our magic skills a little, shall we?”

Asterix suddenly shot her confused look. “Wait, I thought you said there was no magic involved?”

“I said _hardly_ ,” she grinned. “It still requires some. Don’t worry, just do what you always do when you’re using magic.”

Asterix blinked, humming nervously. “But I’ve never used magic before…”

Liliwen shot the same look of confusion back at Asterix. “…You’re joking, right?” the sylvari asked, befuddled upon Asterix’s response. “ _All_ creatures have an innate ability to control magic, and you’re telling me you _never_ used it?”

“I’m even afraid I might not have this ‘ability’ at all,” Asterix confessed, knowing that he was much different than anyone else here on Tyria. What might be common practice to them, was only a druid’s business to him. And he was no druid.

Liliwen blinked back at him with a perplexed look on her face. “Well, of course, there _are_ exceptions,” she muttered. “But like you said, there is a first time for everything!” she added, grinning cheekily. She plopped herself down on the ground. Asterix followed suit and sat down, and so did Dogmatix, whose ears perked intently.

“First,” she spoke, “it’s important to know how magic works. It’s like a great river, splitting and coursing through the world and intertwining into everything that exists. We are the fish. We swim freely within its currents. _Feel_ those currents.” Liliwen closed her eyes and took a deep breath through her nostrils. “Do you feel it?”

Asterix again repeated Liliwen’s actions, closing his eyes and breathing deep. He tried to concentrate on the invisible force, but he couldn’t find or sense it, let alone recognize its existence. He only felt the hot sun on his back and a cool breath of wind brushing past, together forming a pleasant warmth. Wait, there was one other thing: a sudden slight tingle from below, slowly climbing up his spine and tickling his neck, but it was insignificant and tiny; almost negligible. He dismissed it, convinced that it was just an involuntary twitch of a muscle. “No, I don’t feel a thing.”

Liliwen reopened her eyes and looked at him. Strange, he should have at least felt something by now. If he couldn’t even _distinguish_ magic, then what was the point of trying to teach him a simple spell? Fortunately, there was another way. “Let’s try a different approach,” she said, and she looked around. Eventually she reached out a hand and picked up a twig from the ground. Dogmatix’s tail shot up and began to wag like a fan, and the dog started yipping excitedly, breaking the Gaul’s concentration. Asterix glanced at Liliwen, who held out the stick to the ground and drew out a circle, adding lines to the inside of the disc until it formed a symbol. Asterix watched the drawing take shape with piqued interest.

“This is a signet. You can only link one simple magic spell to it, but then it will cast that spell _for_ you, at any time you wish, and it can be used over and over again. It’s a great alternative for people who want to use magic but have trouble learning to control it.” She tossed the stick aside, and Dogmatix darted after it. “You can sew one on your clothes or have a tattoo made of it, so that you’ll never be without. But, I’m afraid I can’t make you a working signet. For being effective alternatives, they’re rather difficult to make...”

“Interesting! That’s very useful to know,” Asterix piped up. “And it’s okay, maybe I’ll meet someone who can make one of those signets for me.” He watched Dogmatix approach the two and drop the stick in front of them, waiting for one of them to throw it again. The pup barked blissfully and gave chase again when Asterix took the stick and threw it.

Liliwen got up and brushed the sticky sand off her blue leafy garments. “I’m terribly sorry that I can’t teach you that stealth trick. You’re quite unlucky to not be able to use magic naturally, but if you find a good mentor and practice a lot, you _will_ master it. I’m sure of it.” She smiled down at Asterix. “I would have been honored to be that mentor, but I can’t come with you. As a Warden, I have to stay here with my people to defend them and keep the peace. I’m sorry.”

“Why all the apologies?” Asterix grinned as he stood up himself. “I was a complete stranger to you and yet you _still_ decided to help me in getting this far anyway. I don’t know how I could thank you for everything you did.”

Suddenly, the sylvari’s red eyes spread wide open. She started to tremble, and tears were beginning to form. “Hey, are you okay?” asked Asterix, who looked back at the woman in confusion. Was it something he said? Liliwen suddenly knelt down and pulled him close to hug him, sobbing profusely.

“ _T-thank you!_ Y-you have no idea how much t-that means to me…”

Asterix was completely taken by surprise at the sylvari’s sudden change of mood. He rose a hand to pat her gently on the back, feeling the touch of her sleek leaves in his palm. Dogmatix returned with the stick in his jowl, and he cocked his head sideways in confusion at the two. Liliwen continued to cry a little more, still holding the Gaul in her embrace. Somehow, the sensation of being locked in her grip felt like a strong déjà vu to Asterix, as if something powerful had clamped around his chest and was squeezing it. Even stranger was his urge to struggle and break away, despite the fact that it was only a hug. His instincts had never failed him in his life, but, against better judgement, he ignored them this time. Eventually, Liliwen let go of him, and snorted.

“Oh, look at me,” she blubbered, “Getting all teary-eyed. Your shirt’s a mess now.” Asterix tried to comfort her with some more reassuring pats on her shoulder, telling her it was okay. Yes, she was perhaps a little bit unstable, emotionally. He could only assume it was thanks to her past with the Inquest. He would have liked to give them a good mouthful of his fist. Those villainous maniacs…

His good helm-wing suddenly knocked into a horizontal stance as he accidently reminded himself of that. _Right. The Inquest…_ There was still the possibility they would be tracking him down, and the longer he waited with getting rid of that mark, the bigger the chances he would be found. Instead of reminding Liliwen about the Inquest, though, he decided to give it a different approach. “How about we take a tour through the Grove before I leave for Hoelbrak? I’m excited to see the Pale Tree up close.”

“That sounds like a splendid idea,” Liliwen replied as she wiped a tear from her eye. And so they went into the direction of the Grove. The already thick roots of the Pale Tree looming overhead, became thicker as the two walked toward it. Once Astorea was behind them, the tree could be viewed in her full glory. She was as tall as a mountain. Her white trunk was as thick as Asterix’s village spanned in width, and her network of roots gently embraced the land known as the Grove below her, where the sylvari went about their daily life. Clusters of foxfire lit the city like lanterns, and the spores and seeds of various flowering plants wafted in the air. It was almost enough to give someone an acute hay fever.

The Grove was separated into three floors. The bottom floor, the Great Helix, was a place of serenity and teaching. It was pleasantly cooled with the shade of the Pale Tree, and filled with clear sweet water springs. With permission, Asterix took a moment to refill his water reserves there. The middle floor was by far the busiest, as it was where all commerce happened. At one point, Asterix scolded Dogmatix and shot him a stern look when the hound attempted to leave his mark on a root of the great tree. Dogmatix was utterly confused about it, how could he realize it would have been disrespectful? He would have to keep it in until they left the Grove.

The prettiest sight must have been at the top floor, where one could behold the Pale Tree’s strong roots spiraling over the Grove like a dome. After the tour, Asterix and Liliwen took a break and sat down at a field north of the city, and allowed Dogmatix to take his business to one of the regular, smaller trees nearby. They both watched the Pale Tree from a distance. The sun felt good on their skins.

“Beautiful.”

“She really is.” replied Liliwen.

Asterix was actually talking about the place in general, but he went with it anyway. He leaned himself back to support himself on his hands. “Are there more trees like her?”

“I’m not sure. We never met another Pale Tree before. But maybe there are,” Liliwen shrugged.

“I bet there are. I mean, she must have come from somewhere,” he grinned.

“Yes, I do believe you’re right,” she replied, smiling. “Maybe we’ll even meet one someday.”

Asterix looked back at the Pale Tree. Yes, there must definitely be more out there, like her. After all, she couldn’t have just come out of nowhere. _Something,_ if it were not a tree itself, must have carried her seed, so there was no doubt in his mind that there were more. He would even bet his money that they all had groves too. Eventually, Liliwen stood back up.

“I think we’ve dawdled enough now. You should have arrived at Hoelbrak long ago,” she told as she dusted herself off. “I’ll walk with you to the asura gate to Lion’s Arch.”

Asterix sighed. “I was just beginning to enjoy it here too.”

“Yes, but I’d like to remind you that you’re going to be followed by certain people, if they’re not doing so already,” Liliwen replied. “That Inquest mark will not be going away on its own. Also, there are almost no facilities in the mountains. They don’t like it there.” She suddenly gasped. “Oh! Speaking of which, before you go there, make sure you buy some warm clothes in Lion’s Arch. They’re not called the _Shiverpeaks_ for no reason.”

“I’ll do that,” Asterix answered as he got up himself and called back Dogmatix. They began their walk back into the Grove and remained at the upper floor. The gate was easy enough to find. Asterix doubtingly stared at the glowing, circular stone portal that towered before him like a big house. It definitely wore the markings of asuran architecture. A web of light-purple magic streamed and waved in the opening as the inner section of the gate turned like a cog. An asura gatekeeper stood near it, keeping it functional and properly maintained. But Asterix couldn’t help but think, wasn’t this gate somehow similar to the portal he fell into just two weeks ago?

“…This thing is safe, right?”

Liliwen was about to answer, but then the gatekeeper quickly stepped in. “Why, naturally it is safe! You’d dare question our intellect?” he said. “There is only a 0.0001 percent chance that _anything_ could go wrong.”

Asterix furrowed a brow. “And what when something _does_ go wrong?”

“Doltish bookah!” the gatekeeper sneered, “You sound like a sylvari sapling that just got out of its pod! Let me rephrase: There is close to _zero_ chance that something bad happens. In fact: there’s a greater chance an _Elder Dragon_ will come crashing down and squash us. Now stop worrying your limited capitulum over it; are you gonna use our gate network or what?”

Asterix frowned. _Rude… I was just asking a question. What was that just now about dragons?_ He brushed off his thoughts. “…Alright,” he finally shrugged, not willing to annoy the gatekeeper further. However, he still felt uneasy about entering the gate.

“Good. Is it just you, or is that lady coming with you?”

“Just me and the dog.”

“Anything you’re taking with you? Items with powerful magical properties, by chance?”

“No, I only have my backpack with rations and water...” Asterix groaned a bit under his breath. He deliberately did not mention his sword. That asura was like a Roman officer snuffing out his belongings for suspicious things. It was almost as if he were visiting Lutetia. He began to wonder if Lion’s Arch looked anything like it. The gatekeeper shot him a suspicious glare, but eventually, his features lightened up a bit. “Very well, that’ll be two gold, then.”

Liliwen quickly bugged in. “ _Two_ gold for only one person? That’s not fair! It was always one gold before.”

“Prices fluctuate, my botanic friend. Besides, he’s bringing his _rat_ ,” the asura pointed his clawed index-finger at the little animal. Dogmatix growled at him in return.

Liliwen was about to protest, but she was stopped by Asterix. “It’s fine, don’t worry. I’ll pay,” and he fished out two gold coins from his coin pouch. He now only had one gold and a handful of silver left. Hopefully it would be enough to make the trip to Hoelbrak and get warmer clothes beforehand. Before he handed the money to the gatekeeper, he turned to Liliwen.

“Thank you for all the help. I promise I’ll make it up to you someday. I’ll come and visit the Grove when everything’s calmed down here for me.”

“I look forward to it already. I’ll have lots of questions to ask you, with you being Ascalonian!” Liliwen grinned.

Asterix smiled back a little nervously. Maybe he should have told her the truth. She might have believed him. But that would have to wait until the day he returns to the Grove. He handed the two pieces of gold to the gatekeeper and picked Dogmatix up with one hand. “Goodbye Liliwen, good luck with the Wardens!”

“Bye! Good luck scamp, come back soon!”

And so, Asterix took a breath and stepped through the gate. He flinched and shut his eyes as he felt a brust of energy enter his body, similar to what he once experienced back in Gaul when the Teragriff attacked. Just like last time, the sensation could only be felt for a split second, only not as intense. Probably had something to do with the distance. The dampness of the jungle was now gone. It was still warm, though. He carefully opened his eyes again and now, he was in Lion’s Arch. He blinked a little. It did not look much like a city at all. He had only just entered what appeared to be a small canyon-like formation of cliffs. Palm trees were dotted around the area, and the air smelled very familiar, like home. Lion’s Arch was at sea, apparently. Several other asura gates, most likely leading to the other cities, surrounded him. They looked well maintained and were all seemingly functional.

“Welcome to Lion’s Arch, sir!” the gatekeeper of the city greeted. “Are you staying , or going to another city?”

Asterix perked a helm-wing and looked at the asuran girl. “Oh, I’m heading to Hoelbrak,” he answered. “How much does that cost?” he asked as well.

“With the stuff you carry, including the dog, it’ll be one gold and five silver.”

Asterix quickly took out his coin pouch and checked its contents. He would have three silver left. Hopefully it would be enough for some clothes. “Do you know where I can find a tailor first?”

“Sure!” The asura girl lifted a finger and pointed. “Just head straight down there. You’ll cross two bridges until you reach the Mystic Plaza. You’ll find a tailor there. Be careful where you step though. The first bridge might be a little…unstable.”

“Thank you, I’ll be right back.” Asterix politely made a bow and headed into the direction he was pointed. The asura was not joking about the bridge being unstable. It was a wide bridge made with strong wood, but it looked like a complete wreck. The entire city did, as a matter of fact. Craters of impact were in the cobblestone and the buildings that still stood were slanted to the side. He could only imagine what ever could have happened to this city.

But it was good to see that the people of the multi-cultural Lion’s Arch were working on rebuilding it. Every race of people, charr, norn, human, sylvari, asura, and even other critters of lesser race, worked their part in it. He had to blink for a moment shortly after he had shakily crossed the first bridge with Dogmatix in his hand. Were those flying ships!? Great balloons of hot air kept them floating high in the sky, and they carried massive construction frames, built beforehand somewhere else and then carried into the city and fitted on top of one another like bricks. It was a rather abstract way to go about the rebuilding of the city, but it was certainly effective.

He let Dogmatix down after they were on solid ground again, and crossed the city field. It looked awfully void, as though something should have been standing in the middle of the great field. There were traders, citizens, and even some Lionguard keeping a watchful eye. _Lionguard, Lion’s Arch, multi-cultural…_ wait, of course! This was the _Rome_ of Tyria! It even connected to all the other big cities of this world. He grinned upon the revelation. It was a good thing this particular Rome was much friendlier than the one back home, too.

He soon entered the next plaza after crossing the second, newly built bridge. The place was a little messy, but much busier, as well. After some looking around, he finally found the tailor hidden subtly behind old ruins. It was run by yet another asura.

“Hello, how may I help you?” she asked when Asterix approached her.

“Good afternoon,” he answered and got three silver coins out. “I need something warm to wear. What can I get from this?” He held the meager handful of coins out toward her. She looked at it, and stared at it with a little bit of disappointment in her face.

“A wool scarf is the best I can offer.” she answered.

“I’ll take it.”

The trade was made and Asterix left the plaza with a dark red scarf in hand, heading back toward the gate hub. He kept Dogmatix in his hand once again when they crossed the large damaged bridge, just in case. He paid the remainder of his money to the gatekeeper, and was led to the gate to Hoelbrak.

“That scarf won’t do you much good out there, you know. It might be the season of the Phoenix, but those mountains are covered in an eternal winter,” the gatekeeper warned him as he wrapped the scarf around his neck.

“I have no money left. Not even a copper. It’ll have to do.” he answered. He picked Dogmatix up and got ready to enter the gate.

_Hoelbrak, here we come._


	8. The Shiverpeaks

Another burst of energy as Asterix stepped through the portal leading to Hoelbrak. The warm summer weather of Lion’s Arch was replaced with cold mountain air. The beach sand replaced with white clear snow. The chilled air stung his skin like needles and made his eyes water. Even the gatekeeper standing next to him shivered despite all the clothes he wore. The only one who did not appear that bothered was Dogmatix.

Asterix trembled, he simply couldn’t help it. That gatekeeper at Lion’s Arch was not kidding in the least; the wind effortlessly crept through his scarf’s openings. It was as if he traveled to Viking lands and then took a dip in a lake there. “This is too much!” he yelled, and quickly turned around to go back to Lion’s Arch.

“Hey, hey, _HEY!_ Hold on just a minute!” the Hoelbrak gatekeeper shouted at Asterix. “You can’t just say ‘nevermind’ and go crawling back. You’ve got to pay the toll every time you use our gates. No exceptions!”

Well, that was it, then. He’s now stuck here. “Alright, sorry…” He then turned back to Hoelbrak, and started to walk forward, to orient himself.

Five enormous lodges stood, facing one another within a sloped area. Four of the lodges bore the face of an animal, carved from stone; a raven, bear, wolf, and a big cat, which he presumed to be some kind of panther. The last building was even taller and wider than the other four, and rivaled the mountains themselves in size. However, it did not bear the face of an animal at its front. Statues of the same animals, carved from ice, were placed in front of each of the buildings that represented them. There was definitely something special about these creatures, as if they were revered like gods. The middle of the area was lit with a great bonfire, shielded like a furnace by carved chunks of un-melting ice, which in turn lit up in the flames, projecting the faces of the godly animals in the clouds.

How it was possible for a city to ever thrive here was all but conceivable to Asterix. However, it didn’t take long for him to find the answer. Anywhere he looked, enormous ‘humans’, covered in tattoos and dressed in Celtic fashion, went about their business. It was clear to him now: this was the city of the proud and tall norn. A stern winter in Gaul would merely be a pleasant breeze to them. Most of them were even bare-chested. The men, anyway.

Asterix shook his head. “These norn are _crazy_ …” he muttered. But then he realized he was even crazier, thinking a simple scarf could have protected him. He thought about using it as a coat instead. It was big enough. But what help would it be if the wind just breezed through it? He might have been better off purchasing a cheap fur coat instead.

He suddenly heard Dogmatix whine. Asterix turned his head, and he saw that the animal was almost lost in the snow, jumping and hopping to keep up with him. He quickly turned around and picked him up. He had to hold back a chuckle when he noticed tiny snowballs had formed and clutched onto the pup’s fur. It made him look like a cloud made from snow. He kept the dog close to him as he walked to the middle of the city, to warm up at the bonfire. Despite its size, there was too much distance for the heat to reach them. Tall fences kept the two from getting any closer. Still freezing, Asterix decided to try one of the big lodges instead. He ran for the bear-faced lodge. The doors were tall and wide like a gate, and open for anyone to enter. As he got inside, he heard merrily laughter and the clanging of steins of ale. Seemed like there was a party.

He looked around. A big hearth stood in the middle of the great hall. Perfect. He quickly walked over to the fireplace and sat down near it. He and Dogmatix welcomed the warmth eagerly, and they glanced around in the enormous hall. There was indeed some kind of party going on. All of the norn were concentrated at a bar on the side. Men and women were boasting about their achievements. He felt a bit nervous, being surrounded by people taller than even Obelix. Normally he’d feel quite secure around his friend, but this was just straight down uncanny! He felt like a rabbit among buffalos. One wrong move and he’d be stepped on. They didn’t even notice him come inside, which made that idea all the scarier. Dismissing those dark thoughts, he decided to listen in on what went on in the crowd of partying norn.

“You think that’s _boasting?”_ one of the women spoke up, and the crowd hushed to listen. “I showed a dozen wolves my strength and bravery. I tied the alpha’s tail into a knot and did the same to its underlings as they tried to attack me! Now when you see a pack of knot-tailed wolves loping around, you’ll remember Aysle the Indomitable!” The norn surrounding her cheered and all took a swig from their ales in perfect synchronization.

A man raised a hand and spoke up next, “I wrestled a black dolyak bull bare-handed and won. Now its head decorates a wall of my homestead!” They all cheered again, taking yet another swig.

Asterix smiled and shook his head. If he joined their competition he would have probably won, but who would believe he’d taken on armies of iron-clad men with nothing but his fists and a gourd of magic potion? There were more pressing matters at hand anyway. Once he felt he had warmed up enough, he told Dogmatix to stay and guard his belongings, and got up and approached them with slight hesitation.

“Excuse me, does anyone know where-”

“I ran into a concentration of Icebrood and killed them all, one by one!” All of the norn shouted once again.

Asterix cringed. He felt like he was going to go deaf again. He raised his voice. “Could I just ask one question-”

“I was among those who slew the great wurm Issormir!”

“ _HEY!_ ”

That last word resonated within the building. The norn quickly silenced and looked around. Who was that, with a voice as loud as a culverin?

“I’m down here!”

They looked down, and saw an annoyed, asura-sized human standing behind them. “By Snow Leopard’s ears!” an elderly man at the front exclaimed. “That’s a loud voice for a little dwarf-human. Impressive, lad! Why don’t you come have a drink with us?”

Asterix blinked. They weren’t even angry about him interrupting them? “I’d be…honored, but I don’t have time. I’m looking for someone named… Marline? Marline Strofditter?”

“Aha! You speak of Margrit Strolfdottir!”

“Yes, that’s her. Where can I find her?”

“She recently moved into a steading to the east, into the foothills,” the norn answered. “When you leave this lodge, go to your left and you’ll find the Wolf lodge and the road to the outskirts just behind it. Follow it out of the city and keep going until you come across the third stead. That’s where she lives.

“Thank you, maybe I’ll come back later if the weather lets me.” He gave a light bow, and walked back to the fireplace. He picked up his stuff and took Dogmatix in his hand, bracing himself for another cold trip through the mountains.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

The trip through the vast unchanged landscape went without much trouble. The snow was void of impurities and made the land almost look like a painting. Pines and spruces were in abundance, carrying the weight of snow on their dense branches. Only the icy chill was a great bother. However, the road was free of snow and made travel much easier. Asterix had passed the first two homesteads already, and he saw the third one in the distance, surrounded by sturdy wood fences and numerous tall pines. The steads were oddly shaped, almost as if part of the hills themselves; with wooden dome-like roofs, covered by a thick layer of snow, and big cobblestone chimneys belching smoke.

Compared to the other two he’d seen, this stead was of a more modest size, enough to house one or two norn. Three would probably be pushing the limit. When he approached the stead, he knocked the door almost a little too eagerly, wanting nothing more than just to get out of this cold. There was no answer first.

“Hello?” he called, and knocked again. He heard some noises from behind the door, but by Belenos, this was taking too long! He knocked again, and the door suddenly creaked open. He hesitated for a moment and looked down at Dogmatix in his hand, who seemed to share a mutual feeling of uneasiness. But then the wind of the outdoors crept into his neck, and the decision was easily made. “Okay, I’m just…letting myself in, then. Really hope you don’t mind. I can’t handle the cold much longer.” he said, and slowly stepped indoors. The homestead was warm inside and had a very welcoming atmosphere to it. Its interior was of strong oak wood, imported from the eastern foothills. Tattoo designs on paper hung on a line that crisscrossed the ceiling. Skulls of various animals decorated one side of the walls. The furniture was also of wood, trimmed with decorative metal, but made comfortable with pillows made from fur, placed onto the stools with utmost care. The rug of a great dire wolf was laid on the floor. The hearth in the back of the room was burning and a kettle hung over it, boiling water.

Asterix heard more noises coming from a doorway leading to the other room. It sounded a bit like shuffling, like someone was practicing dancing steps. He let Dogmatix down and pushed the front door with some effort to close it behind him. “Don’t mind me, I’ll wait if you’re busy. I’m just in need of your services-”

A burling noise coming from down the doorway suddenly caught his attention, and it got closer. Within seconds, a great bulking brown grizzly came bolting through the doorway headed straight towards him. He cried in terror and surprise as the bear pushed him to the floor, forcing him on his back. Dogmatix hid in the maw of the wolf rug in panic. The bear sniffed the Gaul’s hair with high interest while he begged and prayed to the gods for a swift and merciful death. But then, its tongue lolled out of its mouth, and it lapped his face with big wet bear kisses. Asterix muffled a squeak, still frightened but also perplexed by the big creature’s domestic nature. He kept perfectly still, in hopes he wouldn’t anger the bear.

A woman’s voice suddenly cried out in surprise. “ _No!_ Bad Bobbo! _Bad!_ ” Two strong arms wrapped themselves around the bear’s broad torso and tugged it back, leaving a pale-faced, wide-eyed Asterix catching his breath on the floor. Dogmatix skittered toward him and whined. The woman forced the bear down on its own personal mat and scolded it. “You stay here until you can behave!” The bear obeyed. The norness looked back at the short human, who refused to pick himself up from the floor.

“…You always greet your customers like this?” he was finally able to utter.

“I’m _so_ sorry, he always does that. I’m trying to teach him not to, but he just gets really excited when he meets people smaller than norn,” the woman answered as she took him by the hand and helped him up. “He didn’t hurt you, did he? That sometimes happens by accident, I’m sorry I couldn’t come and let you in, I was busy-”

“I’m still whole, I think…” Asterix interrupted, while wiping bear saliva off his face. The woman took a towel and offered it to him. He took it gratefully, and when he was done cleaning his face, he thanked her. Finally, he had a chance to see the woman; she was definitely a norn, possibly about his age, _if_ norn and humans shared the same lifespan. At the moment, she wore a rather casual outfit. She had brown hair going down to her neck, with two braids in it. She had silver eyes and her skin was pale and smooth. She also had deep-grey tattoos printed on her bare arms, forehead and one cheek.

“Strolfdottir, am I right?” Asterix questioned.

“Yes,” she answered. “You’re at the right address.” She examined him doubtfully. He was literally one-third her own length. “You’re…really _short_ for a human. If the dwarves didn’t turn into stone centuries ago, I would have even mistaken you for one.” She then looked down at his dog, who was much tinier. She’d have to pay attention not to step on it.

Asterix shot her an annoyed look and cleared his throat. “Yes. I know I’m short. It runs in the family.”

Margrit turned around and walked to the fireplace to take the kettle out. “That’s unfortunate.” He frowned even more upon hearing that.

“Well, for your information, _big miss_ , I’m quite proud of who I am and I’m well-respected back home. My size doesn’t bother me _at_ _all,_ as a matter of fact!”

“The cold bothered you plenty, from what I can tell. Being small in size can be very disadvantageous in the cold. Especially when you’re dressed the way _you_ are.” She poured a mug with boiled blackened water. “Please, make yourself at home. Coffee? Or would you rather have tea?”

It was true; his size did make him more susceptible to the cold, he was just too proud to admit it. He looked back at the bear, who was itching to greet him again, but stayed on his mat obediently like a well-trained hound. He set his backpack down near the front door. “I’ve heard of tea before, but what is coffee?” he asked as he walked toward the fireplace and sat down near it.

“It’s made from coffee beans. It’s bitter, but really peps you up. Here, try some.” She poured half a mug; a full norn-sized mug would be too much, and handed it to him. Asterix smelled it carefully, then took a sip from the black brew. It was indeed strong in taste, but despite the bitterness, the hot liquid still somehow tasted good. He felt it warm him from inside, while the fires of the hearth warmed him on the outside. After a long trip through the cold, this was very pleasant. “Not bad,” he said. Dogmatix laid down next to him, and heaved a yawn.

Margrit took her own mug and sat next to him. “All right, down to business: where did you want a tattoo made? Did you have a design in mind?”

“Actually, I’m here to have a tattoo removed,” Asterix answered.

“Ah! Got tired of it?”

“It’s an Inquest mark.”

The norness grimaced. “Oh… You sad thing.”

Asterix frowned back at her. He hated being belittled. “I’m not sad, let alone a _thing_.”

Margrit looked him deep in the eye. But then, she lit up and smiled with understanding. “Yes, I can see that. My apologies.”

The front door was loudly knocked on. A loud burling voice yelled out from behind. “TIMBER!” The both of them shot their glances at the commotion behind them, and the door was suddenly kicked wide open by enormous, snow-covered boots. Three male norn came bounding in. Other than the obvious intoxication, they had a dark atmosphere around them. Their armor and furs were covered in thin layers of snow and rime, but they were not bothered by that at all. Asterix immediately felt uneasy about them, and his judgement turned out to be well-placed.

“You, _female_!” one of them called in his sloshed state. “You’re a tattoo artist, right? We want tattoos on our new friend here! Make em’ happen, now!” Margrit stared them a look that could kill. Asterix saw this, and immediately made the conclusion that those three were up to no good. The bear got up from his mattress, emitting a deep, rumbling growl.

Margrit too stood up from her seat. “I don’t lend my services to _dragon kissers_. Even less those who have no respect for the property of others.”

The three men bellowed out in laughter. “Pathetic _wench!_ Do as you’re told, or we’ll wreck everything in your stead!”

“Come at me, sons of _filth!_ ”

Asterix got up and kept a hand close to his sword. One of the three men noticed. “Ye better stay outta this if ye know what’s good for ye, little rat!” That was more insult than he was willing to take. He clenched his jaw and gripped the hilt of his sword and drew it out, its blade immediately set itself ablaze. Dogmatix growled threateningly.

“Run that by me again, if you dare!”

The three norn eyed him. “How about that, boys,” the first one spoke up. “The rat _wants_ to fight! Let’s show these insignificant weaklings who’s boss!” And with that, they got ready for a brawl, two of them facing Margrit and her bear, and the last one slowly closing in on Asterix.

Margrit hissed. “ _Idiot!_ You should’ve stayed out of this!”

“I can handle him,” Asterix retorted. The norn towering before him was armed to the teeth, but had no weapons otherwise. He was slow with inebriation, and when the man got closer, he could smell the alcohol in his breath; something Asterix could put to his advantage.

The norn bent forward, intending to grab the little human and crush him in his grip. But Asterix stepped out of the way easily. He tried once more, and again he missed. Again he tried. And again, no success. The norn roared and looked around. “Stop mov…moving! I’m gittn’ dizzy! Where are ye?”

“Right here,” a voice spoke up from behind, and suddenly the norn felt the burning blade of a sword slip past the fur coat he wore, setting it on fire. The norn cried out in a panic when the realization dawned on him. He stumbled to run out of the steading and rolled into the snow to put the fire out. Meanwhile, Bobbo the bear chased another norn out of the steading after a short wrestle. But Asterix noticed something off; where did Margrit and the last one go? He had been too focused on his own opponent to notice what else happened around him.

“And _stay_ out!” her voice roared from outside, somewhat burlier and more animalistic than before.

“ _Fine_ , have it your way! But don’t celebrate too soon…we’ll be back!” one of the three drunks called back angrily.

Asterix stared at the doorway. She would probably be coming back inside any second now, but what came walking in was not what he expected. An enormous were-cat entered the room. Fur white-grey with spots, and angry silver eyes. Its tail swished and its teeth were bared. It snarled. Startled, Asterix backed up, and dropped the sword. It extinguished its flames before hitting the floor.

The noise caught the beast’s attention. It looked down at the surprised figure, and suddenly, its features loosened, turning into a more human expression. “What’s wrong? Never seen a norn transform before?” That voice… It was…Margrit? The norn could _shapeshift?_

The beastly creature took a long breath and transformed again. The fur on her skin reformed into her clothes, and her muscular, feline form turned back into that of a brown-haired woman.

Asterix blinked, and abruptly sucked in a breath of air. He didn’t realize he had been holding it. Margrit shot him a stern look, as though he’d done something wrong. But then, she began to laugh. “You know, for a man your size, you’ve really got some spunk to threaten the Sons of Svanir.” She gave Bobbo a rewarding scratch on his pudgy head. The bear’s tongue lolled out of his mouth in satisfaction.

“Those drunkards?”

“Yes…but the cult’s much bigger than you think,” she said as her face became stern again. “You’re overconfident; you could get yourself killed with the way you act.” she criticized, and closed the front door. The lock was busted; best to get it fixed as soon as possible. Until then, she placed a small stone totem of a bear against it so the wind wouldn’t blow it open.

Asterix frowned a little. She had a point. He was not indomitable in this world, let alone feared by his enemies. Forgetting that could cost him dearly. “Okay, I’ll be more careful next time,” he replied. He then picked up his sword and sheathed it.

“Good. Now, let’s see about getting that mark off of you.” Margrit said. And she walked over to her workbench to take the tools she thought she would be needing. There were ink-pots, needles, thin knifes, bottles of purified alcohol, for sanitary reasons… Looking at them all, Asterix could only imagine how much this was going to hurt, and he cringed.

“Now, where is it?” asked Margrit, while she picked her tools out, and then put on smooth, leather gloves, made specifically for her work. She took a bottle of alcohol and poured some into a cupped hand, and rubbed it into her gloves.

“On second thought, I’m not ready for this…”

Margrit shot him the same stern look once more. “You _want_ to be found again?”

“No…”

“Then sit down and show it to me,” Margrit told as she turned around to clean the tools she picked out next, setting them each aside on a clean cloth once they were properly cleaned.

Asterix let out a defeated sigh, and took off his belt and tunic. “It’s on my back,” he said. When Margrit turned around, she stopped and took a good look at him. “Wolf’s teeth! Have you been eating at all?”

“Oh! You know, spending a few nights at the Inquest helps a _great deal_ when someone wants to lose weight,” Asterix retorted back sarcastically, and with no lack of annoyance in his voice.

Margrit blinked at him. “Take it easy, little rabbit. I’m sorry. Go ahead and take a seat. I’ll be ready soon.” She turned and finished cleaning her tools, lost in thought. _Skin over bone and short in height and temper... At least he’s still more lively than most others who ran into the Inquest._

Asterix took a seat at the table. His annoyance soon made way for anxiety, and he began to tap the table nervously with his fingers as he examined the table’s wooden texture as though it were art. Margrit noted his unease when she approached him for the procedure. He really _was_ not ready for this.

Margrit hummed. “Perhaps I should make you some herbal tea first. It’ll relax you a bit.”

“It’s fine, just get started. I don’t wanna take too much of your time…”

Margrit sighed. “I really think you should. I admit, you’re a brave little man, but I can _smell_ your fear, no matter how skilled you are at concealing it.” She laid the tools down at the table. “You do that a lot, don’t you?”

Asterix abruptly stopped tapping his fingers against the table, still staring at the wood, and remained silent for a moment. Truly, nothing got past this woman without her noticing it. It wouldn’t be long until she knew him better than he did himself! He finally let out a deep, uneasy sigh. “Alright. I’ll have some tea.”

Margrit had another kettle of water boiled and added the herbs using a steel infuser, after some moments of thought, she decided to slip in two drops of sleeping aid as well. That should do the trick. Then, after a few sips, Asterix began to look more sedate. She sat down on a stool behind him and took a good long gander at the mark of the Inquest. It was definitely one of their tracking devices; a small, hexagon-shaped emblem in white, black and scarlet, adorned with more diamond shapes. The data crystals were concealed within the red ink. That’s how it also achieved its bright red pigment.

“All right, I’ll need you to try and relax your muscles now. It’ll hurt less, that way.” She took out a tool. Asterix didn’t bother to see what it was. He was feeling a bit too lethargic to care anymore. That tea was doing its work well.

“You did this before, right?”

“Plenty of times; don’t you worry.”

“Have you ever done sylvari before?”

Margrit perked a brow at the odd question. “Why, yes, I did once,” she replied. “Flighty one, she was. I had some trouble getting rid of her mark, but she was aware of the risk and didn’t seem to mind the scarring. Different bodily composition, you know. I work much better with fleshy skin. If everything goes well, you’ll hardly notice anything was there in the first place.”

There was a short moment of silence.

“Say, little rabbit, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Oh! I’m really sorry, I didn’t introduce myself yet. I-” Suddenly Asterix hissed at an unexpected spike of pain. “…Asterix. My name is Asterix.”

“That’s a nice name,” Margrit mused back.

“Thanks…”

“Where do you come from, Asterix?”

He contemplated a second. “From Ascellon.”

“You’re lying.” she replied. But she didn’t sound angered, she sounded disappointed.

“Wha-” Asterix wanted to turn to face Margrit, but she raised a free hand to grip his shoulder and push him back gently. “Don’t move while I work, please.”

“What makes you think I’m lying?” he questioned again.

“Well, first of all, that’s charr land. The only human fortress left there is Ebonhawke. Second, that’s not how you pronounce _Ascalon_.”

Asterix shamefully lowered his head. “Okay, you got me…”

“Why would you lie to me?”

That same disappointed tone in her voice again. Asterix was expecting her to somehow punish him. “Because…” Asterix swallowed. “If I told you the truth, you wouldn’t believe me anyway. You’d think I’ve gone bonkers.”

For a moment, he got no reply back. The wait was _killing_ him. He was expecting her to label him a madman, just as the Lionguard did.

“All right, humor me. Where do you _really_ come from?”

_She did not just…_ He let out a depressed sigh. “I’m from Gaul. And Gaul…well…” He thought about how to deliver her the information for a moment. “Gaul is very far away from Tyria.”

“Oh? Is Gaul a distant continent, then?”

“Nooo!” he groaned, sounding somewhat upset. Margrit withdrew her hands for a moment, unsure if she hurt him more than he could take. Eventually, he continued to talk, and she took it as permission to resume her work. “Gaul isn’t even a _part_ of this world… I don’t know how to explain it. It’s just… somewhere else. Out _there_.” He waved a hand up to the ceiling, as if he was suggesting towards the sky.

Margrit was unsure how to absorb the information she received. A human coming from another world? Impossible! Or was it? It seemed like an implausible story, yet she sensed no lie, no deceit, not even a sliver of delusion. The story even sounded…familiar… “I believe you.” she finally confirmed to him.

“Y…You do? But why?”

“I’m not sure why. I just do.” She laid one tool aside and grabbed a paper towel to carefully dab the wound she created. “How did you come here?”

Margrit expected him to continue, but not a word left his mouth. Instead, an invisible veil lifted, and she felt a sudden burst of depression surge out from the little man. He had been concealing that feeling the whole time; keeping it to himself. All because no one believed him. And she was supposed to be an expert at uncovering what people were hiding from her. First, she met someone who was proud, a snitch temperamental, perhaps, but looked up to life positively. But now, after this, a whole new person was revealed to her.

She laid her tools aside. “Is it all right with you if we take a little break? You don’t seem well.”

He didn’t respond. Now she was starting to get worried.

“Hey, is everything okay?” She got up and dragged her stool so she could sit next to him, and she tried to get his attention. Eventually, she was met with a poignant face. It was clear to her that he was holding back tears.

“I tried to protect my people…” he uttered. “And now I’m stuck here, all because of _them_ …” He looked away quickly, unwilling to show Margrit even a tiny bit of the weakness he so much despised. “Even the stars here are different… All I have left now is Dogmatix.” He made a short glance at his dog, who laid sleeping peacefully together with Margrit’s bear. They had become buddies already, but it only reminded him of all the things he lost, and he turned away once more.

Margrit looked back remorsefully at him. She knew immediately whose fault this all was, although she was still unable to piece together how and why. “I’m terribly sorry… Is there anything I can do?”

Asterix looked at the mug of unfinished herbal tea that stood in front of him. It was going cold now, steam was no longer coming off from it. He grabbed the mug and took a few long gulps from it, and set it back down.

“Just finish your job, please. I want this thing off me.”

“All right. It’ll be done soon,” Margrit reassured. Not a word was being spoken after that, and while she worked, she noticed her customer getting drowsier by the minute. The drugged tea was a bit stronger than she anticipated. But then again, this was medicine for norn. Perhaps it was for the better. He looked like he could use some rest.


	9. Tyria's Dark Past

Asterix shifted about, muttering inaudibly. Suddenly, his head shot up and he yelped, panting and feeling cold sweat dripping from his forehead. He blinked, his eyelids heavy with sleep. He was back in the norn steading again.

Strange…he couldn’t remember falling asleep here. He was sitting at the wooden table, arms resting on the table top. A soft, warm fur was carefully laid around him. Slowly, he raised a hand to rub his eyes. That same dream _again_. When will it end? Every time he had it, something about it changed and made it worse. It was once again a dragon attacking his home, but this time, as the world around it burned, its pale eyes shifted, and it looked at him.

It looked at him. It beckoned.

Asterix shuddered as he thought about it. Why did he keep having those dreams? Was there some kind of purpose to them that he didn’t understand yet?

Bobbo approached him calmly, snorting as he waddled. The grizzly nudged him in the belly with his big nose and woke him a bit more. He shot up in surprise, but then he realized the bear was behaving. He truly _was_ just an oversized dog. Hesitantly, Asterix placed a hand on Bobbo’s head, and the bear began to groan pleasantly when his fingers rubbed a fuzzy ear. He began to glance around the room. It was the same as before. Thick oaken wood made up the dome-shaped ceiling, from which Margrit’s tattoo art hung. The fireplace was still lit, though it had dimmed down a little. A strong smell of food being cooked wafted through another door’s thin openings; presumably, the kitchen laid behind it. Dogmatix sat near the door, watching it and waiting in excitement.

Eventually, he yawned. His mouth and throat felt dry. He wanted to stretch himself, but then he felt a pain between his shoulder blades. He winced and hissed. ‘What the-’ He lifted his hand away from Bobbo and tried to feel at the source of the pain. There was soft linen patch covering it. Then he remembered. He was having that mark removed from his back. He remembered how much it stung. But how could he have fallen asleep during all _that?_

Wait a minute… Of course, it must have been the tea.

‘Welcome back t’ the world o’ the living, lil’ man!’

Was that the voice of…Obelix? He turned to look. No… It was just another norn, hired to fix Margrit’s broken door that currently stood wide open as he knelt beside it. His voice was almost an exact match of his best friend’s. But the real Obelix didn’t have that accent, and he would never call him a _’lil’ man’,_ anyway. The norn even had long red hair, as well as a thick beard with braids, accompanied by a mustache.

‘Quiet one, ain’t ye? Ye’ve been asleep since before I got ‘ere. Was afraid I’d wake ye with me tinkerin’, but ye kept on sleepin’ like a dolyak.’

Asterix blinked groggily. That tea was way too strong for him. ‘Good…’ He stared out the doorway, it looked like it was getting dark out. ‘…evening?’

‘Aye, early evenin’. Ye picked a strange time t’ be sleepin’.’ The repairman made the final adjustments to the new lock he hammered into the wooden door, then gave it a slap, and the door slammed shut. ‘There, good as new! Now I best be headin’ home quick. Me wife ‘n kids await me fer dinner.’ He packed his tools back up and got up to leave.

‘Wait, shouldn’t you be getting paid for this?’

‘Naw friend, me ‘n lil’ Margrit know each other well. She paid me upfront. Enjoy yer meal!’ The door closed, and the norn was gone.

_Enjoy my meal? What does he mean by that?_ He looked around again and saw his belt and tunic laying on the chair beside him, where he had left them. He took them and carefully put them back on, paying mind that he didn’t move his shoulders too much, which proved difficult. After the short struggle with his clothes, the other door creaked open, and Dogmatix got up and began to yip. Bobbo also got excited. Margrit came walking in with two platefuls of food. ‘Hey there, little rabbit! Sleep well?’

‘I guess so,’ he answered while he rubbed his neck. ‘Your friend just left, by the way. The door’s fixed.’

‘Ah, you met my friend Horin. Good!’ She set the two plates on the table and walked back to fetch a bowl of raw meat for her bear. As well as a small slab on a dish for Dogmatix. After she gave the two animals their share, she sat down. ‘All right, dig in!’

Asterix inspected the plate of food set before him. It was a rather exotic cuisine; composed of a large slab of powerfully spiced meat that looked like nothing he’d ever seen, and various whole roasted vegetables that were all but known to him. The pile of food was far too much for him as well, as though Margrit had expected a norn to be visiting. He looked up at her - who had already tucked into her meal - questioningly. ‘Just like that? You’re inviting me for dinner?’

‘Well, I can’t just send you out into the cold at night.’ Margrit replied as she popped a cut of meat into her mouth. She stared back at him momentarily, noticing he was hesitating. His lack of excitement worried her. What if he lost his appetite after going this long without proper nutrition? If so, she was going to have to fix that. She just had to figure out how… ‘You’re not telling me you’re refusing a norn’s hospitality, are you?’ she asked finally.

Asterix looked back up to her in shock. ‘N-no! Of course not!’ He quickly grabbed his fork and knife, and began to eat. Once he had a taste of the meat, he immediately got more excited. Margrit smiled. She found his weakness: politeness.

‘This is really good!’ said Asterix.

‘Thank you. But I’m not _that_ great,’ Margrit laughed. ‘It’s hard to make dolyak meat taste bad.’

‘You’re better than me, though. I still tend to burn a leg on a wild boar.’

‘ _You’re_ the cook in your family?’

‘No, not like that. I live alone.’ He bit down on a slice of a vegetable.

Margrit shot an odd glance at Asterix. ‘You mean…you don’t have a wife? No kids back in Gaul?’

‘None of it! It was just me and my best pal. Just having a good time, you know…’ He swallowed. ‘I never was much interested in starting a family of my own. Some of the people of my village thought it was strange; my mother even tried to hook me up with a lady, once…’

‘I know how you feel,’ Margrit sighed. ‘I’ve had men showing up at my doorstep, pronouncing their love to me. But they only wanted a wife to cook for them. I’ve refused each and every one so far.’ She rolled her eyes and grinned at the thought while she chewed. ‘Call me selfish, but I don’t want to spend my time and freedom on a relationship, or kids… There are too many things to do, to discover!’

‘That’s exactly what I was thinking!’ Asterix said. ‘I used to go on a lot of adventures back from where I came. I wasn’t gonna give _that_ up! Not even for gold.’

‘Tell me about one of your adventures,’ Margrit said intently.

They both traded stories, laughed, and ate. Asterix was, not surprisingly, done eating sooner than Margrit was, leaving his plate half-empty. Margrit told him he could offer the leftovers to Bobbo, and the bear ate it happily. When Margrit too had finished, Asterix offered to help in cleaning the dishes. But Margrit refused, telling him he shouldn’t strain the wound on his back. He still insisted on helping out somehow, and eventually persuaded her to let him clear the table. Later that eve, they sat near the hearth with warm beverages, and they talked some more.

‘So you really do believe me… About Gaul, I mean.’

Margrit bent down from her seat and picked Dogmatix up, placing him on her lap. The pup yawned as she began to talk. ‘Well, when you told me about it, it somehow seemed awfully familiar to me. And that’s how I knew you weren’t lying… I couldn’t quite figure out what, though. But, while I was finishing up ridding you of that mark, I gave it a good thought and then, I remembered.’

‘Well? What was it?’

‘When I was a wee girl, I always used to ask my grandfather why the humans were smaller than us norn. He never really answered that, but instead he would tell me a very old story about how, a couple of thousand years ago, the six human gods first arrived to Tyria through the Mists, and brought the human race along with them.’

Asterix stared in bewilderment. ‘You mean, they’re not native to Tyria?’

‘They’re not. But nobody knows for sure where they _did_ come from. Maybe they all came from this ‘Gaul’, like you did.’

‘Well, Gaul’s just a small part of the world I used to live in… There are more countries.’

Margrit lifted her coffee from the table and sipped. ‘And let’s see if I get this right: your village is the one of the very few that still stands vigilant against this empire of Rome, right?’

‘I hope it still is.’ he answered, a tad worried. ‘I have no idea what’s happening there right now. I know they can handle the Romans just fine…but what if the Inquest are still sending these monsters out?’

‘Don’t worry. I bet that however they did it, it must have taken a ton of effort to achieve. I mean, for a portal to reach that kind of distance, it must have required a _lot_ of power.’

Asterix gave it a thought. ‘Yeah, you’re probably right.’ He looked back at the fire within the hearth, the flames dancing as they reached out to the sky via the chimney’s opening. Margrit observed him in silence, while she scratched Dogmatix’s head lightly. She could see him getting lost in thought. Now and then, the limp wing on his helm would twitch almost unnoticeably. For being kept so far away from home forcibly, he looked oddly calm.

But she knew better than to get fooled by that mask. Knowing now that he was once the only warrior of his village, this behavior of keeping his fears and qualms hidden from others was much more of an instinctual act. Keeping his cool was necessary in order to keep his people calm, as well.

Suddenly, he cleared his throat and looked back at her. ‘So, how about telling me something about yourself?’

She blinked, surprised by the question. ‘Me? Oh, I couldn’t possibly be that interesting…’

‘You kidding? This whole world is nothing like I’d ever seen!’ Asterix shifted back carefully until his lower back supported against the large chair he sat on. ‘I mean, from what I’ve learned, your people worship animals. How come?’

‘Animals?’ Margrit thought a moment. ‘Oh! You speak of the Spirits.’

‘Spirits?’ he asked intriguingly, ‘Please, tell me more.’

Margrit chuckled. ‘Well, they’re not gods or anything, but the Spirits of the Wild guide us in our lives. We respect their ways and the habitat of their children, and we hunt in their names. Most norn revere one spirit more than others. There are many different spirits, such as Wolf, Raven, Snow Leopard…’

Asterix glanced at Bobbo, who laid snoring on the mat. He remembered the face of a bear hanging from one of Hoelbrak’s great lodges. ‘Do you revere the Bear Spirit most?’

Margrit laughed.

‘No, I revere each spirit equally. Unless you count Jormag…’ Her smile suddenly turned into a dark frown.

Asterix looked back at Margrit, feeling a bit uneasy. ‘Who’s Jormag?’

‘The Elder Dragon of ice. The Elder Dragons are giant, horrible things; possibly as old as Tyria itself. They stirred from deep below the earth and brought forth earthquakes, avalanches, —even raised an entire sunken nation— as they woke. Some say they represent the forces of nature, destroying everything in their path without even needing to try.’ She sighed forlornly for a moment before continuing.

‘Several centuries ago, Jormag rose from the mountains in the north, driving us as well as other people of different races to the south. Our ancestors tried to fight the dragon, but even with the Spirits on our side, they were no match. As the Spirits fought to keep Jormag contained, it devoured Owl, destroying her completely…’

‘At our darkest hour, the legendary Asgeir Dragonrender had a vision, and he told his people to follow Wolf, Bear, Raven, and Snow Leopard to new land. They led them south, and promised that one day we would fight Jormag again. And thus, Hoelbrak was formed.’

‘The Sons of Svanir, those drunks from before, revere Jormag as the most powerful spirit of the wild. But the dragons are not spirits, they’re nothing but destruction taken physical form. Even today we feel and see their influence on the world. Many have lost family and loved ones to them, either killed or converted into minions…’

When she finished, Margrit looked away, a flush of sadness overcoming her.

‘That’s horrible…!’ Asterix felt a mix of restlessness and anxiety tug at him, either that or it was the coffee. He heard mention of dragons before in the short time he spent in Tyria, but never truly understood their roles in this world. Now, imagining that those dragons were so ancient and great, and so formidable and terrifying, that they could even rival the might of gods... Even the returning nightmare suddenly made more sense. It made him want to leave this place all the more. But he also felt compelled to help in some way. ‘Has anyone ever stopped them? At least tried?’

Margrit turned her head to face Asterix again. Despite the gloomy mood, there was a glint in his eyes, a spark of hopefulness. ‘An alliance known as the Pact defeated one,’ she finally spoke. ‘But the war was long and cost many people their lives. And there are still more dragons to face.’

‘Where is that alliance now?’

‘The last I heard, they were sending their fleet off to face Mordremoth, the jungle dragon.’ Margrit forced herself to smile again. ‘But that’s really not for you to be concerned about.’

_That name… Mordremoth._ Asterix scowled. ‘But I _am_ concerned.’ he retorted.

‘You have your own problems, little rabbit-’

He stood up from his chair unexpectedly. ‘Stop calling me a _rabbit!’_ he yelled.

Bobbo woke, and looked up in surprise, and even Dogmatix was bewildered. They watched both their masters staring each other deep in the eye. Not a sound came from either one.

‘I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware you didn’t like being called that,’ Margrit finally said.

‘I…’ Asterix sighed and slumped back into the chair. He looked down at the floor. ‘No, _I’m_ sorry. I didn’t mean to explode like that.’ He took his helm off and ran a hand through his blonde hair.

‘You’re under a lot of stress, Asterix. It’s only natural, after all the things you went through.’ There was another moment of silence. The only sound came from the crackling fires of the hearth.

Slowly, he lowered the hand from his hair again, and he began to fiddle with the helmet in his hands. ‘Do people get recurring nightmares about these dragons?’

‘Well, yes,’ she answered, ‘Lots of people dream of Elder Dragons attacking their homes, and loved ones. Why?’ Margrit questioned.

‘I have them too… I’ve been having them ever since I came to Tyria, and I never even knew about the Elder Dragons until now.’ He glanced up at Margrit, his face had turned into a concerned frown. ‘What does it mean? Is one of them affecting me?’

Margrit forced a smile again. ‘No, don’t worry. Scholars have learned that even their existence can affect our subconscious minds. But they only come in the form of nightmares... We’re too far away for any of them to hurt us. Still…’ She continued to scratch Dogmatix’s head lightly. ‘Their influence reaches far. Be it through dragon minions, cults, or other means… Always be very careful of them, lest you join their cause or be killed.’

Asterix looked back down. His frown remained, and he fiddled with his helm again, straightening out the feathers of its wings. ‘I see.’

Margrit decided to change the subject. ‘So, any idea where you’ll go next?’

Asterix looked back up at Margrit, and his features loosened up a little. ‘I don’t know. They told me it’s wiser to stay in the mountains for a while. I don’t have any money left anyway—’ Suddenly, his mood shifted again. ‘…Oh, Taranis* strike me down! I can’t even _pay_ you! I spent it all on getting to Hoelbrak! I’m such a _moron,’_ he censured himself, pinching the bridge of his nose, and he shook his head in dismay.

Margrit also had forgotten about that. She sighed somberly. _There he goes again. No more coffee for him from now on._ ’It’s okay, we’ll work something out.’

‘What did you have in mind?’ he asked.

‘Well, you could look around for a job in Hoelbrak, or the Black Citadel, perhaps. Though, if you’re not leaving the mountains, you’re going to need a place where you can stay…’ Margrit pondered. ‘What’s the best place for a human to stay in the Shiverpeaks?’

‘With a norn, perhaps?’

Margrit looked at Asterix and blinked. ‘You want to stay with _me?’_

Asterix shrugged. ‘Well, I mean, if it’s not too much of a bother… I would rather be here than in the city. It’s too busy for me there.’

She stared at him as though he were joking. It was a rather unexpected proposition to her, and she smiled a bit nervously. Asterix noticed her hesitation and laughed a bit. ‘Yeah, you’re right, stupid idea. Forget I suggested that.’

But she was making a serious consideration. ‘Actually, it’s not a bad idea. You’re gonna have to stay somewhere, but you can’t rent a place of your own until you earn money. Also, neither you and your little pup take much space, so there should be enough room for all of us here.’ She petted Dogmatix again, holding the tiny thing in one hand and stroking his head and back gently with the other. ‘I suppose I could also use some company, especially Bobbo,’ she added as an afterthought.

Asterix brightened up. ‘You’re serious? You’re letting us stay?’

‘Yes. On the condition that you do your part around the house and find a job to pay me back.’

‘Done!’ he placed his helm back on his head and held out a hand towards her. ‘Let’s shake on it.’

‘Then it’s settled.’ Margrit took the hand and gave it a firm shake, accidently nearly swinging him in her grip and making him lose balance. She gasped and apologized, but then couldn’t help but laugh when she watched him try to straighten himself.

‘It’s fine. I’m used to it,’ he spoke up quickly as he stood up. He couldn’t help but laugh together with her.

‘You’re at least not as fragile as you look,’ Margrit snorted in her giggling. Eventually she calmed down. ‘All right, it’s getting late. Let’s fix you a place where you can sleep.’

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

That night, he laid in his makeshift bed. It was no more than a wooden bench. Using some thick furs and a pillow, it was easily turned into a nice cot, and it was the perfect size, too. It was comfortable and warm, and it should have been easy to fall asleep in it. Asterix, however, couldn’t sleep at all. He’d already slept just hours ago, so he was still wide awake. That coffee wasn’t much of a help either. Instead, he simply laid on his side, staring out to the living quarters where he was spending the night. The restlessness bored him so. One part of him really wanted to sleep, so that he didn’t have to wait for dawn. But the other part was afraid of the returning nightmares he suffered. Now that he knew more about what they meant, he wanted to avoid having them all the more, as well as the culprits causing them.

But there was also a morbid curiosity. Why did the Elder Dragons exist? How great were they truly? Was their one and sole purpose really to destroy the world, and nothing more? That didn’t make sense, the pieces didn’t fit. He wanted to know more - no, he _needed_ to know more. He had to understand them. The train of thoughts gnawed at him like a persistent itch.

He rolled to lay on his stomach, and he looked around. The dark of night made Margrit’s steading look unappealing and cold, but it was no less comfortable. The warmth of the extinguished fireplace was trapped within the building. The hearth itself was also closed, with strong iron doors, so warmth couldn’t escape through there either, and feral creatures couldn’t crawl inside. It was perfectly safe here. Horin, the repairman, even put a reinforced lock on the front door. So there was no reason to be worried about these Sons of Svanir kicking it down overnight.

Margrit had retreated to her own dorm, and the only company were now Dogmatix and Bobbo. Both were sound asleep. Dogmatix laid on top of Bobbo’s back like he always used to when he slept together with Obelix. It made Asterix smile lightly.

He rolled back to his side again, letting out a quiet sigh. He began to wonder how his friends were doing. _Hope you guys aren’t in too much trouble…_

He heard a noise, a shift of something heavy, dropping down outside. It surprised him at first, but then he remembered it was just the snow sliding off the roof. The flight of winter birds predicted a storm. He overheard the norn talking about it as he traveled to Margrit’s. And indeed, it was snowing heavily outside now. It made him thankful that he was allowed to stay here, where it was warm, protected, and quiet. He was sure he wouldn’t be able to keep even one eye shut over at Hoelbrak, with those norn singing and partying all night. Maybe that’s why Margrit moved here, as well.

Some time passed when he finally could feel his eyes grow heavy and he began to yawn. He was completely unaware what time it was, or how long he’d been waiting. He hoped he would have enough time to catch some sleep. He shifted to lay on his other side, and he pulled a fur to better cover him. Tomorrow, he was going to look around for a job. His mind was set on paying Margrit back, and not only for her services, but her generosity as well. At least now he had a goal to distract himself with.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

_* Celtic god of thunder_


	10. Mending Hearts

There was a sound. The trudging of hooves in mud, and the creaking of the wooden wheels of a cart, slowly being pulled along. The green forest was dense. Droplets of fresh fallen rain rolled down oaken, chestnut and birch leaves, birds were singing their songs. A warm sun shone through the openings of the forest, casting down upon a horse-driven cart. The back of the cart was protected from rain by a well-spanned red tent. A young man, tall, bare-chested, as well as muscular, was seated at the front. He wore blue and white checkered breeches. His long blonde hair was drenched. He had a thick leather coat draped around his shoulders, to protect from the rain. But it too was beyond soaked, sticking to his skin. Unlike the usual customs in Gaul, he did not sport a mustache.

He shook the rain from his head, raising a hand to wipe the wet hair from his face. “We’re almost here, darling. It’s just beyond the trees now. I can see it already.”

The voice of a young woman, sitting in the back of the cart, spoke. “I hope they’re all alright.”

“I hope so too, Panacea. But we have to be prepared for the worst.”

“Tragicomix!” the girl scolded as she climbed to the front. She was beautiful and voluptuous, and had flowing, golden hair grown all the way down to hip-length. She wore a white dress, covered to the waist by a blue tunic she wore. “Don’t talk about them like that. You make it sound like they would want to hurt us.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that they must’ve gone through some rough times. We’re not sure what to expect.”

At final last, the cart left the forest behind. The sun hung high in the sky, warming a peaceful green land below it. Dandelions and poppies, as well as other various wild flowers, bloomed in a field that stretched from the forest to the beach. Droplets of fresh rain and dew glistened in the sunlight. The distant sky was decorated with a hazy rainbow. Along the field, close to the sea, laid a small village, surrounded with sturdy wooden fortifications.

But there was also something new. Once, the road led to the village in a straight path. Now, it had to make way for something else, making a long turn around a small monument; both to the left and right. When she saw, Panacea gasped, a hand rushing to meet her lips.

A great flat boulder, carved with delicate Celtic patterns, and placed there with ever such care, laid before them. Heaps of beach sand was used to fill a gap surrounding the boulder, and smaller rocks were set around the site in a circular fashion. The young sprouts of grass that grew near the outer rim undisturbed made it clear that nobody was allowed to walk beyond it. Young flowers were laid near the rim, signifying that someone loved dearly was now no more.

Panacea could feel the tears rolling down her cheeks. She and her husband didn’t want to believe it first. But now they had seen it. It really was true.

She still had the memories clear in her head. Back home in Condatum*, they were visiting Astronomix and Obeliscoidix, Asterix and Obelix’s fathers, to aid them with their shop’s clearance sale. It was then when the letter arrived. After reading it, Astronomix stared in pale disbelief. He had the shop closed immediately, not explaining a thing until he arrived home to his wife Sarsaparilla. Obeliscoidix was in utter bafflement at his old friend’s sudden inexplicable behavior. While he rushed to get his wife Vanilla, Tragicomix and Panacea followed after Astronomix.

When they arrived, they found Sarsaparilla sitting on the bench at the front of her home, crying her eyes out and shaking her head, blubbering inaudible words. Her husband held her close with one arm, the letter shook in his nervous hand.

The news crashed down on them as though the sky had fallen on their heads. Nobody wanted or was prepared to believe it. They even wished to an extend that it was just a joke, a prank. No matter how cruel and distasteful it would have been. Both Astronomix and Sarsaparilla, and Obeliscoidix and Vanilla, left Condatum the same day to head to the village at the shore. Tragicomix loaned them a horse cart for the road. They came home after a long week, still broken and torn.

No parent should suffer losing their child. None.

Now, another two weeks later, it was Tragicomix and Panacea’s turn to visit.

As the cart made the turn around the dolmen, they were greeted by the gate guards, one of which called the other Gauls together. Panacea first embraced Soporifix, her father. Vitalstatistix, the village chief, was the first to give Tragicomix a brief handshake, as they shared condolences with one another. The chief did not stand on his shield this time, instead being at a more eye leveled height with the visitors. Everybody was there, except for two.

“It’s good to see you well, children,” Vitalstatistix began, “It has been a dark, sad time for all of us these past weeks.”

“Thank you, honored chief. Our hearts deeply sympathize with you all for this horrible loss.” Tragicomix replied. “Asterix was a good man. I’m still thankful for what he and Obelix did for Panacea and I when I was conscripted into the Roman army*.”

“Where is Obelix?” asked Panacea, when she noticed he wasn’t among the collective of villagers.

“He is most likely withdrawn to his own hut, or in his quarry,” Getafix the druid answered with a calm, yet forlorn voice. “Panacea, my child, won’t you walk with me? Then we will visit him together.”

“Yes, O druid. I would love to.”

She waved her husband and her father goodbye, and walked with the druid. As they walked, Panacea glanced around.

The village looked different from the last time they visited. There were gaping holes in straw roofs, covered with planks as a temporary solution to the unpredictable weather of April, until they would be repaired. Cacofonix’s tree was uprooted in the quake. They had been working on clearing the rubble that was once his hut, and they would eventually try to tow the tree back into place to rebuild upon it. In the meantime, the bard made his temporary stay with one of the neighboring villagers.

Despite the fact it now stood empty and available, nobody had the heart to make use of Asterix’s hut, and it remained undisturbed. In the absence of people coming nearby it, it had become dusty, its open windows filled with cobwebs. A singular menhir stood near the closed door, slightly sunken into the mud. It was almost as if he weren’t truly gone, but just away on another mission, and the village expected him to return, victorious and covered in glory after facing the challenges and dangerous endeavors laid before him.

Unfortunately, nothing could be further from the truth. And everyone knew that this mission was one he wouldn’t return from.

Finally, when the villagers were far behind, Getafix began to talk. “He looked so broken when it happened. Everybody was devastated, naturally, but the way he felt… It was by far the worst.” He sighed.

Panacea turned to look at him. “How is he now?”

“Not better,” the druid replied. “Even now as most people are carefully beginning to pick up their old lives again, he just continues to spend his time brooding, locking himself away from everyone. Losing Dogmatix in the same event just added more salt to the wound.”

“Gods…” she muttered wistfully. She was anguished. Poor Obelix. He truly was all alone now.

“He rarely talks to anybody anymore, let alone eat. We’ve tried many things to help him, but his grief is just too great. It’s affecting him in more negative ways than is healthy. I know these things need time, normally, but I fear he’ll hurt himself if this keeps up.”

“Is there nothing we can do?”

The old druid stopped in his tracks, and he turned to gently take Panacea’s smooth hand with his old, worn ones. “I sincerely hope I don’t ask too much of you, my dear child. But I believe that it’s best if you talk to him alone. He likes you a lot. So maybe you can talk a little sense into him.”

Panacea blinked. “Me? But, O druid, are you sure I’m the right person for this?”

“I’m sure,” Getafix reassured. “After Asterix, you are the next closest friend to him. Just talk with him. It’ll allow him to express his feelings, and hopefully, that will make him feel better.”

Eventually, the young woman nodded obediently.

“Very good. Go on, then. Let me know how it went when you’re finished. You know where to find me,” said Getafix. Panacea nodded again, and turned. He watched her walk toward Obelix’s living quarters.

“Let us hope it works,” the druid muttered softly. He turned around, heading to his hut.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

“Obelix? Are you there?”

Panacea peered into a darkened hut where Obelix lived. There stood his workbench. It looked recently used, tools and bits of rock scattered over the tabletop. A dusty collection of Roman helmets, - some dented, others rusty - laid neatly stacked nearby. The bed was untidied, and the dinner table was all but used. There was no Obelix here. Not a single living, breathing thing could be found.

“Obelix?” she called again.

Then, she heard the noise of a hammer, tinkering away against a chisel, which in turn shattered rock. It was coming from near the hut. Of course, he must be outside in his quarry. She turned from the doorway, making the short stroll to the quarry, and indeed. There he was, back turned, and completely lost in his work. He was already carving his eleventh menhir of the day. Panacea immediately noticed a difference in him; his breeches were looking a tad wider than usual, hanging slightly baggier around the otherwise round, sizable shape that was Obelix.

“Obelix-”

The big Gaul abruptly stopped in his work, letting the hammer fall against the chisel with a loud bang. A large crevice formed on the menhir’s surface, crawling all the way through until the head cracked loose. He sighed, gritting his teeth and tensing his shoulders. An annoyed, bitter voice escaped his mouth.

“Can’t people see that I’m busy? I have to get these delivered _before_ Tuesday.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Panacea replied sadly.

But then, he perked up, turning around to see who it was. In an instant, the annoyed look on his face turned soft again, and his angry tone turned into a shy, uneasy one. He began to blush. “Panacea? How did you- So sorry, I’m so sorry! I didn’t know it was-”

“Me?” she lit up and smiled. “It’s okay, Obelix. I’m sorry about breaking your concentration.”

Obelix looked back at the chisel and hammer in his hands and blinked. “Oh. No, that’s my fault. I can make another one easily…” He slowly bent over to put the tools down, clapping his hands together to dust the gravel and sand off from him. “What are you doing here?”

She did not answer, and instead approached him calmly, noticing his face just kept on turning redder as she came closer. She carefully took his large hands into her own, examining them. They were overworked, were riddled with tiny cuts and bruises, and his fingers and palms had grown callus. She then scanned him up and down. “You look different, have you been taking good enough care of yourself lately?”

Obelix turned his face away. “Oh, well… I’m fine, really. I just…” He frowned in a way Panacea had never seen before. She had seen heartbreak in him before, but it was nothing like this. He was stricken with grief, not lovesickness.

“Why don’t you take a little break? You look like you could use one.”

“Honestly, I don’t-”

But then Panacea tugged lightly at his hands, coaxing him to sit on the nearby bench with her. He followed hesitantly and sat down. The bench creaked lightly under his weight. Panacea sat down with him, and watched him fiddle around a bit with his hands.

“I heard about what happened. I’m terribly sorry, Obelix.”

Obelix looked down at Panacea. “What _did_ you hear, exactly?”

Panacea looked back into Obelix’s sage-green eyes. They looked careworn and tired, but also worried. But she wasn’t sure what for. Perhaps there was something she wasn’t supposed to know.

“I…I heard of the quake, and how, well… he…fell down.”

The large Gaul blinked warily for a moment, and shortly after he let out a short sigh of relief. It was a good thing, that she didn’t know the whole story. “Yeah, that’s what happened.”

“Poor Asterix…”

Obelix looked away forlornly. “It should have been me,” he muttered.

“What?” Panacea looked up at Obelix in utter disbelief. He looked back down at her, with tears in his eyes. “It should have been me. Asterix never deserved any of this… If there was something -anything- I could do, to redo that one moment, I would have fought…”

He suddenly stopped himself from continuing, and looked down at the ground. Tears dropped and mixed into the sand. “I mean, I…I would have…”

Carefully, Panacea placed a hand on his arm. He flinched, looking at the hand, then back to her half-smiling, half-saddened face.

“It’s not your fault, Obelix,” she reassured.

He sniffed, raising his hand to wipe some tears away. “Then why does it feel like it is?”

Panacea sighed and looked out at the quarry, then up to the sky. She could only imagine how horrible it felt to lose a best friend. Sure, Asterix was her friend too, but they never shared a bond as close as he and Obelix did, which was indeed rarer than twins. Despite all odds, they were born on the same day, the same hour and minute, and even in the same village. Yet they were no brothers in flesh and blood; they did not share the same parents. They were, however, brothers at heart. That was what truly mattered.

All their lives, they were each other’s pillars to support on when things were at their worst. Now one was gone, and the other was broken.

But even broken pillars could be repaired. They just needed a little time and care.

Finally, she stood up. “Why don’t we pay him a visit?”

“I don’t really think I should,” he answered dolefully.

“Why not?” Panacea questioned. “You were his best friend. I’m sure he would appreciate it if you visited him.”

“Well…” Obelix hesitated first, but then he realized she had a point. “Yeah, you’re right,” he admitted, and stood up from the bench. The wood creaked again, relieved of the weight that rested on it. He and Panacea took a slow walk through the village, catching some of the villagers surprised. Obelix was out, talking with someone other than himself, for the first time after two agonizing weeks. They did not speak, though. They didn’t want to be a bother. The two walked out of the village, and they both settled on the grass, looking at the monument that laid before them. The shade that was cast by the tombstone slowly disappeared, as the sun slowly found itself blocked behind a cluster of clouds.

For a long moment, no words came from either Gaul. There was just a soft breeze, leaves rustling, and birds chirping. It was oddly peaceful. Panacea plucked a small blue flower – her favorite – from the field, and kept it close to herself.

“The flowers are wilting,” Obelix remarked eventually. Panacea looked at him, casting a confused look at first, but then she deduced he was talking about the flowers that were laid on top of the dolmen.

“We could replace them, if you want,” she told to him.

“No, it’s okay. I don’t want to disturb him too much.” He leaned back a bit, letting his hands rest on the grass and heaving a depressed sigh. “Besides, the area is still a bit unstable there. There’s a chance it might sink again.”

“I see,” the girl answered quietly, looking at the small flower in her hand. Its tiny petals were as blue as the sky. She eventually looked back at the dolmen. “Did you carve that stone yourself?”

“Yeah, and the patterns too. I know I’m not much of an artist, but I only wanted the best for him.”

“Well, it’s beautiful,” Panacea said as she smiled at him. “He couldn’t have asked for any better.”

“There were even some Romans who came to pay their respect,” he chuckled lightly. “Who would have thought?”

Panacea grinned as well. It was good to see him smile, even if just for a second.

Obelix leaned to the front again, letting out a long sigh. He tried to gently wrap his arm around the girl, hoping she would let him. And yes, she allowed it, even shifting a bit to sit closer to him. He blushed lightly as she took his hand. He knew Panacea was married, and respected it fully, but he still had a crush on her, all the same. They were just good friends, but that was okay. He would rather be a good friend than to not know her at all.

“You know, the day before we began filling the hole, I climbed down there, at night. I just had to make sure…”

Panacea looked up at Obelix. He simply stared at the tomb site. “Did you…did you find him?”

Obelix smiled weakly. “No. Nothing but-” he choked up a little, unsure what words to use. “…his sword. I looked everywhere, but I only found his sword.” He didn’t see the point in telling her the grueling details about the monster when she wasn’t aware of it. The memory of how the moss and fungus grew out of its mangled, broken corpse when he found it was still fresh in his mind. “I don’t understand though. He should have been there… how is he ever going to join the gods and heroes in the Otherworld, if we can’t even give him a proper burial?”

Panacea found that odd too. After some thought, she took a long breath. A chance had opened itself, and she was going to risk taking it. “What if he didn’t want to go to the Otherworld?”

Obelix shot her a confused look. “What do you mean?”

Panacea looked down, silently cursing at herself. _Great job, Panacea, now you have to explain yourself somehow._ ”Well,” she hesitated. “Perhaps he wanted to stay here, so what if-”

“Why would he want to do that!?” Obelix interrupted, lifting his arm from her, and revealing a more depressed and worried tone than before. “He _deserved_ his place among the gods! Why would he refuse to go there?”

“Maybe,” she carefully spoke, “it’s because he wants to make sure you’ll be okay first…”

Obelix blinked dumbly. His eyes slowly began to water. “Y…You think? He really would go through all that trouble for me?”

“Oh, sweet big Obelix. Of course he would,” Panacea answered with a heartwarming smile. “You weren’t just his best friend, you were a _brother_ to him.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I think I would have done the same…” The big Gaul raised a finger to wipe a tear from his eye. He looked back at the dolmen, and there was another short moment of silence. Eventually, he spoke.

“Asterix, if you can hear me,” he sighed deep, “there’s no need to worry about me anymore. I promise I’ll be fine, so…so…”

Panacea watched him lower a hand to the ground, touching the grass ever so gently, as if he were stroking someone on the head.

“You can sleep now, buddy.”

A soft warmth tingled both Gauls’ skins, and they looked up, watching the sun reveal itself again between the clouds. It didn’t seem that significant, but Panacea noticed that Obelix had taken it as a sign. For the first time in weeks, he truly smiled, this time for real. A heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and he looked relieved. Healthier, even. And that’s when she knew her efforts were successful. He was going to be all right. They sat there for a little longer, absorbing the nature around them.

Eventually, there was a sudden peeping, gurgling noise. Obelix shot up, alerted from the sound. “I’m getting hungry.” He glanced down at Panacea. “Would you and Tragicomix like to have dinner with me tonight?”

She laughed lightly. “Yes, Obelix, we would love to. I’ll let him know we’re invited.” She got up gracefully and pecked the big Gaul on the cheek. She then began to walk.

“Oh, Panacea?”

“Yes?”

“You’ll be staying a while, right?”

She looked back and smiled warmly. “Of course, Obelix. We’re staying the whole week.” She then turned again, and walked to her father’s home, expecting Tragicomix to be there. Getafix would have to wait just a little longer, but she would tell him the good news soon.

Obelix smiled as well, keeping a hand close to the reddened cheek he was kissed on. He wouldn’t be washing it for weeks. He turned to the dolmen again, looking at the wilting bouquets laying on top of it. The large Gaul got up, picking a single flower off the ground. Very carefully, he approached the monument, setting a foot into the sand and picking off the dying flowers, and when he was finished, he gently laid the fresh one on top.

Obelix patted the rock. “Thank you, for everything,” he whispered. “Good bye friend.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

_* Rennes_

_* Volume 10: Asterix the Legionary_


	11. The City of Iron

“I need this fixed. And be quick about it,” a female charr spoke up as a bloodied and dented sword was tossed against the metal workbench, resonating the metallic noise like a bell that rang. Asterix took his helm off to wipe an arm past his sweaty forehead and puffed. He was covered in dirt stains and smears of oil.

“Get up, mouse. Break time’s over, back to work,” his boss, a charr with brown manes and golden fur like a lion, announced. “You’re not getting paid to slack off.”

“Yes, yes, I’m going,” he replied as he got up from the ground and waited for his boss to finish hammering the dents out of the sword. He was tasked with cleaning the blood and dirt off the weapons after they were fixed.

Despite how simple and to the point it sounded, it was difficult work to do. The weapons were often large and heavy to carry, everything had to be done as fast as possible, preferably in less than two minutes, and the pay was low. But it was the only job he was able to find that was even remotely in the area and was allowed to do. The charr were bewildered about a human looking for a job in _their_ city. His boss, whom he nicknamed simply Lion, since the guy refused to tell him his name, even doubted if he was capable for the job. But so far, he didn’t fire him yet. So that must have meant he was doing it right.

To top it all off, the Black Citadel was a scorching hot city during the summer, even though it laid at the base of the Shiverpeak Mountains’ foothills. Walking there from the mountains and back took some effort by itself. Working in the city was much worse a grind. Especially for a human, who felt all but at home in a charr city built from metal, fire, and the ruins of an ancient human city. It even smelled unnatural. The air was unhealthy and filled with smog. And the charr _loved_ it.

The charr were a warring race; everybody was a soldier, trained from cubhood, disciplined and loyal to their cause. They were much alike the Romans. They were conquerors, owned more advanced technology than just traditional sword and magic, were well organized and even used terms such as Centurion and Legionnaire, which surprised Asterix. Being a species of predator, they were also far more violent and fearless than the type of invading enemy he knew.

They saw sport in fighting and enjoyed beating each other black and bloody. To the charr, getting a scar was an achievement. And what better place to get into a rowdy battle than _The Bane_ , the colosseum of the Black Citadel? Swords lacerated, shields bashed, rifles fired and hammers crushed. More often than not, a bloody tooth or even a claw was lost in the fighting, and maybe once in a week, one poor sucker would be found dead and was dragged out if they still didn’t stand up several hours after they collapsed. Sometimes, the more mature characters came here to settle disputes. Other times, it was a slaughterhouse worse than Caesar’s ‘finest’ gladiatorial shows.

And that arena was where he now worked, wiping blood and dirt off weapons in the blazing sun as though it all didn’t faze him. Of course, it did faze him at first; a lot even. But after figuring out this was all just daily life to the charr, he taught himself to cope with it, resisting the urge to watch the fighting and only wincing once every so often whenever there was a bloodcurdling scream. Thankfully, his shifts were short and only on the calmer days when there were no tournaments.

“Here you go,” his boss spoke up, and he slid the sword over the workbench. The Gaul wrapped both hands around the grip without question, heaving to lift the heavy blade. It was bigger than himself, but he did his work just as fast as a charr would. He slid it down into a metal container filled with strong-smelling liquid, taking it out again after counting five seconds in his head. He then took an old shred of cloth and began to wipe the blade clean, and the blood came off easily after the treatment. He then lifted it by the hilt again and let it drop on the workbench once again, in front of the customer to take. A handful of coin was dropped into the boss’ paw, and the warrior sprinted back into battle, her sword glimmering like new.

“I gotta say, I expected you to quit after the first three days.” The lion-maned boss grinned at Asterix while he scratched a twitchy ear with a single claw. “You even made me lose a bet of money.”

The Gaul wiped his forehead again, panting roughly. “That’s all fine and dandy, as long as it doesn’t come off my paycheck.”

“Hey, that’s not a bad idea!” the charr joked while he took the next weapon from another customer. This time it was a shield. Asterix shot him a dark glare. But then, the charr flicked each of his four ears and looked up.

“Oh boy, here come some bloodies,” the charr suddenly hissed under his breath, while he raised the hammer in his paw to bash it into the shield. The Gaul looked around cautiously. “Where?”

Lion pointed a claw at four other charr, with shining red armor, walking into the arena. “Those cubs right there. Looks like we’re in for a treat.” The hammer slammed down shortly after he finished the sentence.

Asterix spotted the four and immediately became nervous. If there was one thing he knew about these cat-people, it was to watch out for the Blood Legion kind. They were easy enough to distinguish; they often dressed in blood-red armor, they were easy to anger, and were even more violent and blood thirsty than the other Legions. Blood Legion soldiers were always the first to march into battle. They did not rely on stealth and secrecy, like Ash, or on siege and advanced weaponry, such as Iron. They just ran in head first and slaughtered what got in their way.

But the ‘easy to anger’ part was what concerned him the most. He got into trouble with one Blood soldier before, just from accidently bumping into her rear. She thought he was hitting on her, and if nobody else was there to keep her contained, she would have torn him to shreds. In the end, everything was cleared up and forgiven, but that experience left him distrustful of many charr. They weren’t particularly fond of humans, either, but most were quite neutral.

Thank all the gods he came here _after_ the war treaty was signed, and not before.

Asterix was pulled out of thought when he felt his boss’ bushy end of his tail slap him in his face. “Focus! You have work to do,” he growled.

“Yes, sir…” Asterix replied, and he took the bulwark in his hands. As he fastened a large clamp into the shield and lowered the heavy thing carefully into the vat for the liquid solution treatment, he couldn’t help but overhear what those Blood Legion soldiers were here for. Two of them in particular sounded like they were spitting profanity at one another. He knew that those words would soon be replaced with claws and teeth.

“It’s _you_ who got us into that mess in the first place! Thinking you could cheat an Ash soldier on a gamble and expect him not to notice!? Where would you like to have your guts splattered on?” The first, a female, roared furiously at her companion.

“One more word out of you, cub, and I’ll cut your tail off and strangle you with it,” the other with a masculine voice, sounding more animalistic than humane, snarled back.

“I don’t get the violence of you people…” Asterix eventually muttered toward Lion. He raised the shield out of the vat and took the shred of cloth again, wiping the dissolving stains from the metal.

The boss looked down at his employee and smiled, though it looked more as if he was baring his teeth at him. “Hah! You’re just lucky, kid. If we never signed that war treaty with the humans in the first place, you would have been dead out here.”

“You mean I wouldn’t have been here at all,” said Asterix. “I’d be a big idiot to come here if you guys were still at war with…us.”

“Good point,” Lion hummed. “You’re not a big idiot. Just a little one.” He cast a cheeky grin at Asterix. But it only made his human employee groan in annoyance.

“Once I have enough money to pay Margrit back, I’m quitting this job right away,” he angrily spoke up while he lifted the shield to hand it back to its owner. But his boss didn’t hear him. He was focusing on the quarreling that ensued between the two Blood legion charr. It had since turned into a violent skirmish. They had both drawn their weapons, axe against morning star. They would fight each other to the death. The third charr cheered for either one, and the last simply looked on.

Lion got up and straightened his back, and as he did, he became almost twice as tall than he was when he stood hunched. And then, he bellowed. “Hey, shrubs!” he called out. “Move your petty argument further into the arena! You’re gonna hit one of my clients at this rate!”

Asterix suddenly flinched in surprise, withdrawing the shield back to himself before the customer was able to take it. “Are you _insane?_ Don’t anger them any further!”

But despite a charr’s well-developed hearing, most of them chose to ignore him.

“Hey, _meat,”_ the disgruntled customer growled. “I want my shield back.”

Asterix looked back at yet another burling figure of a charr standing behind the workbench, towering before him. His tiger-like fur was greying with age, and a pair of wrinkled, golden-orange eyes peered at him expectantly. “Y-yes, of course. Sorry,” he stammered slightly, and he held the shield out again for the charr to take. A small handful of coins clattered on the workbench. Lion still was too busy shouting at the two fighting Blood soldiers, so Asterix collected the money himself and dropped them into the boss’ coin pouch.

His boss then abruptly shoved him aside, grabbing the rifle that laid amongst his other tools. “You stay here and watch my stuff,” the charr commanded as he positioned the musket in his arms and turned. He approached the two charr, who were starting to get dangerously close to the work station. Asterix didn’t even have a chance to protest, and his boss had already released a warning shot.

The two stopped upon hearing it, and turned to look at the blacksmith. He was looking back at them.

“Did you have something to say to us, _oldtimer?”_ The female charr snarled, blood dripping out of a split lip. Her manes were messed up from the fighting and one of her fangs threatened to fall out.

“Yes,” Lion retorted nonchalantly. “Move your fight somewhere where you’re not bothering anybody else!”

The Blood legion soldiers now also focused their attention to the blacksmith. The other fighter had one of his eyes black and swollen, his already ugly mug was now riddled with cuts, and his tail had a painful looking kink in it, suggesting broken bones. He cast a glance at Asterix in the back.

“Why don’t you mind your own business and go back to playing card games with your pet, _human lover.”_

Lion growled furiously. “Run that by me again, cub, and I will blow your head off!”

That was when the Blood soldiers forgot about their own argument, and turned toward the lion-maned charr. Four charr against one, while bystanders watched casually, some muttering words of worry, others grinning in sadistic approval. Asterix couldn’t take it. He ached to help his boss, yet he was forced to watch helplessly, realizing it would be the death of him if he threw himself in the middle of a brawl between five aggressive cats with horns, and each of them weighing at least three-hundred pounds, armor not included. But, four against one - that would mean the death of Lion. And they tore at him, not giving him a chance to fight back.

The Gaul felt his anxiety build up to bursting point. There had to be something he could do. _Anything!_ Even if it meant drawing their attention to himself for just a few moments…

Suddenly, his old instincts kicked in. Those same instincts that, when there was big trouble, he would do whatever it took to stop it. Without thinking it over, he leapt over the workbench, drew out his revolver, and took aim at one of the Blood soldiers, trying not to direct the gun anywhere close to their heads, necks or torsos. There was a second of hesitation, but then he cocked the hammer and pressed the trigger. A short loud pang echoed through the arena, and then, an even louder, anguished howl followed. The noise caught the attention of many.

_“You!_ You _RAT!”_ the female roared out, clutching her thigh. “You shot my leg!” She bent down to a kneel, blood leaked out of her newly acquired wound that stained the leather of her armor. Asterix stood, petrified with the gun still in his hands, aimed at her. He breathed rapidly. He felt his heart race. Snapping out of his state of adrenaline-induced panic, he dropped the gun shakily. Whatever he did, it worked. The fighting had stopped…for the moment.

Responding to his comrade’s distress, whom he fought just minutes before, the kink-tailed male of the group suddenly roared like an enraged animal and came bounding, and before Asterix was able to do anything, he felt the charr’s large paw slam into the side of his head. The impact sent him flying several feet, landing near Lion’s work station and rolling over the sand several feet more until he finally came to a halt. His winged helmet clattered over the workbench, and his head spun and burned in pain. Barely conscious, he couldn’t even remember anymore what had happened.

“Pathetic _son of a grawl!”_ the charr cursed, and he continued to cuss, approaching the limp body threateningly. Now Asterix remembered. He shot the charr’s warband mate, and now he was going to pay dearly for it. In his hampered vision, he watched his doom closing in, long horns swinging as he shook his head, and sharp claws drawn out. He wanted to get up, but his body wouldn’t allow him, only aching more if he tried to move.

“You shouldn’t have gotten involved, punk,” the charr hissed when his foot stepped down on the ground, only several inches away from the Gaul’s face. The claws on his toes drew out a little further, pressing into the dirt. Asterix gave one last attempt to get up, but he only moved about feebly, then pressed his eyes shut, not ready to take the beating. The charr bent over and reached out to grip him in his neck, like he would a rabbit.

“That’s enough!” a distant voice suddenly shouted. The charr shot up and raised his ears, and his face went pale under his fur.

“S-Sir! We weren’t expecting you’d…”

“I would what? Find you idiots out here?” the superior snarled. “Can’t even leave you for one hour and you cubs get yourselves in trouble!” The white-as-snow charr cast his blue eyes around, taking in the damage. One lion-furred blacksmith sat up and spat a goblet of blood. He was covered in cuts and had parts of his body swell up from the punching he took. The girl of the warband slowly got to her feet with the help of her other two comrades. Then, his eyes settled on Asterix, who was struggling to get back to his feet. “What happened here?” he shot back at the kink-tailed soldier, while he suggested a paw at the battlefield.

“Well, you see, sir, that rat there shot Farra in the leg-”

The white charr roared to interrupt him. _”I don’t care about the rat!_ I want to know why you came here, while I explicitly ordered you _not to!_ You have a job to do, soldier!”

“Yes, sir…” the lesser bowed his head shamefully, and muttered under his breath.

“I can’t hear you!”

_“Yes, sir!”_

“Now, get out of here. Double time! And I don’t want to hear any of you whining!” The white charr turned around and left, while his warband struggled to follow. After they were gone, most spectators lost interest and soon continued with their own business. Lion got to his feet and limped his way to Asterix, gripped his arm, and raised him carefully.

“You okay?”

His pain and dizziness became more severe as he was lifted from the ground, feeling his blood drain away from his head. With his boss’ help, he finally got to his feet, groaning painfully while he raised a hand to support his head.

“I’m fine, I think… Nothing broken.” He lowered his hand and found it stained with some blood. The same blood with that strange silvery hue to it; although it looked more natural than the last time he saw it.

“I should be slapping you up the other side of your face for not obeying your boss, you know that!?” Lion growled angrily.

“If I obeyed you, you would have been slaughtered even before _their_ boss got here!” Asterix retorted, but then he winced, putting both hands on his head as it stung once again from shouting too hard. He let himself back down to the ground and waited until the pain faded.

This boss snorted and flared his nostrils in annoyance, but realized the little man was right. He knelt down in front of the human, careful not to strain himself. “What am I going to do with you, if all you do is get yourself into trouble for others?” he sighed. The words crashed down on Asterix like a rock. He _did_ always get into trouble. Here especially… Nothing was further from the truth: He did not fit in this charr society.

“Nothing.” Asterix told bitterly. “I quit. I can’t do this anymore. I’m…sorry.” The Gaul slowly raised himself again, fearing for his life if he stayed here any longer. He was even surprised at how shaky he sounded when he said those last two words. Slowly, he began to walk, picking up his own bag and revolver as he passed them, and leaving the Bane without any hesitation. He picked up his helmet that fell off from the attack on the way as well, and dusted the dirt from it. Lion looked on, grumbling quietly as his ex-employee left. But then he got up and walked after the Gaul, putting a paw on his shoulder to stop him. Asterix flinched, and turned around.

“Hey, you might be quitting, but I’m not letting you go without your paycheck,” he grumbled.

Asterix stared back at Lion in confusion. “I didn’t even last a week.”

“Bah! Stop being so _dignified._ I may have been a little harsh on you, but I’m not a cheapstake.” He began to fish into one of his pockets. “You were a good worker and I’m not letting you go unrewarded. And besides… I do owe you my life after what just happened.”

“But I…”

But the charr pulled a small bag of coins out of his pocket, and forced it into his hand. “No buts! This place is not for you. Don’t let me see you here looking for a job again, or I _will_ slap you in the face. Twice as hard.”

Asterix blinked, dumbfounded. Lion snorted at him. “You gone deaf? Do I need to kick you out?”

“No, sir! Going right now, sir,” Asterix replied quickly, and then he turned, trying his best to walk with at least some dignity, yet sometimes stumbled slightly across the road as he headed out. Back to the west. To the mountains. Part of him was very glad he didn’t need to come back to that gods forsaken city anymore. But he also regretted having to quit the only job he could find for the sake of his own well-being. At least he was able to pay a portion of his debt back to Margrit now.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

“I’m back again,” Asterix announced, letting himself into Margrit’s lodge. Bobbo greeted him with a nudge of his nose, and Dogmatix yipped cheerfully, trying to jump him. But Asterix only cast them both a weak smile before he dropped his bag carelessly and headed straight for the thing he currently longed for most: his bed. He dropped himself on the cot and let out a long, exhausted sigh.

“Welcome back,” Margrit answered while she wasn’t looking, too busy cleaning her workbench after she was finished doing her own work for the day. She knew that he would be getting rest first; it was what he had always done after the demanding chore and the long walk back home. “How did it go this time? Getting the hang of it?”

“Afraid not…” Asterix muttered. “I quit my job.”

“What do you mean? What happened-” as the norn turned around, her eyes widened. The Gaul was covered in bruises, dirt and oil from a struggle, and the side of his head was stained with dry blood.

“Bear! What happened to you!?”

Asterix shifted his head slowly to look at her with dull eyes. “Catfight…”

“Get up and wash yourself. Right now,” Margrit demanded. “I’ll help you clean and dress that wound.”

When he was finally clean and in fresh clothes, he sat back down on his cot. Margrit took out her band aid kit, hidden neatly in one of the drawers of her workbench. She also took one of her bottles of alcohol, normally used for her job as a tattoo artist. She then knelt down near the human and opened the case, and look a good, long look at the gash on Asterix’s temple. The injury was clearly caused by a large charr paw, the pads of the hand imprinted and red on the side of his face, and the claws having left some deep cuts hidden under his messy hair. Some fresh blood still crept out from them, though much slower than before.

“I can’t believe you shot a charr in the leg.” Margrit muttered with a slight hint of anger and disappointment in her voice, when she learned the story. “Do you get a kick out of getting yourself in trouble? Because that sure looks like it.” She took out a clean cloth and drizzled it with a bottle of alcohol, then carefully dabbed the wound on Asterix’s temple with it. The Gaul hissed painfully.

“I know… I only tried to help my employer,” Asterix sighed somberly. “I hardly even remember exactly what I did… I suddenly just lost my control, as if I blacked out, or something. It all happened so fast…”

“Well,” Margrit sighed, “You’re lucky you got away with just a minor concussion. And you even came home by yourself.”

“I’ve been hit on the head more than once,” Asterix said with a weak smile. “Makes you grow a harder skull.”

“Maybe all those hits on the head also made a little screw come loose,” the norn replied, while she sprinkled more alcohol on the piece of cloth in her hand. “And that magic potion of yours… It has clearly affected your estimation skills in the wrong way.”

Asterix blinked, surprised that someone would criticize the magic potion in such a way. _That_ magic potion, that saved him so many times, in so many ways. And all Margrit could comment about it was that it was _bad_ for him?

But then again, she never experienced the strength and freedom it gave. Not that she would be really needing such a powerful weapon, if she were to be put in his shoes. She was a norn of nine feet, with a volume of muscle he didn’t expect to see in women, yet she was elegant in her feminine form. She would have been fine. She had taken on sixteen ice wurms alone, and lived to tell the tale.

But Asterix? No, without his potion, he would be used as literal cannon fodder, like he was today.

“Well, I suppose it did…” he responded, looking a bit defeated.

The norn raised the alcohol-soaked cloth, dabbing it against his injury again. “We’ll have to figure out something else, then,” Margrit added. “For now, just take a day for yourself to rest.” When she was sure she cleaned the wound well enough, she laid the cloth and bottle aside, and wrapped his head carefully in a strong linen bandage. She then had an ice pack made for him by scooping some snow from outside into a handkerchief and knotted the four ends together.

“Brings down the swelling,” she said.

“Thank you.” Asterix replied, and he rested the pack carefully against his face. “Oh yeah,” he suddenly spoke up as he remembered. “You should check my pockets in the laundry. My paycheck is in there. It’s for you.”

“He still paid you anyway, huh? That’s sweet of him. He must have appreciated your work.” said Margrit. And she finally smiled again. “Now, you lay down a bit. I’ll get some leftovers out from last night.”

“Sounds good,” Asterix replied. He watched Dogmatix approach and hop beside him on the bed. Bobbo sniffed the floor, and then laid down lazily. Asterix smiled and patted the dog on the head. Then, he sighed depressingly.

“She’s right. I’m nothing without my potion,” he muttered, just quietly enough for the norn not to hear it.

Dogmatix looked up at him with his dark brown eyes. His tongue lolled, and he licked his chops.

“What should I do? What _can_ I do?” Asterix looked back down at the pup, as if expecting an answer. The animal cocked his head sideways, emitting a short, quiet whine.

He sighed again, and adjusted the pack against his face.

“Yeah, I don’t know either…


	12. The Hunt

Asterix stared out from the window, yawning out of utter boredom. He had been holed up in the lodge for four long days now. It may be cold outside, but he longed to get out again. To get things done. Many job opportunities had opened up for the rebuilding of Lion’s Arch. Though he was eager to go, Margrit wouldn’t let him leave her stead until she decided he was doing better. And while he kept trying to convince her he was feeling well, she was ever more persistent that he was not. She would offer him simple chores to distract himself as a consolation, but it was not enough to keep a warrior entertained. Margrit was often too busy with her own work. He felt like a child that needed babysitting.

“Bobbo, come,” Margrit told while she took a bow and quiver of arrows from her weapon rack. She was dressed in her leather armor; with a long coat made out of thick, strong cloth and wolf fur. She hung the quiver over her shoulder, while the brown bear got up and trailed closely behind her. Standing close to his master, Bobbo looked much more like a really fat dog, rather than a bear.

Asterix looked at her while she prepared herself. “Going hunting?”

“Yup. We’re almost out of meat,” Margrit answered. “Think you’ll be all right on your own?”

What a surprise. She _still_ didn’t want him going outside.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” he said, while he quickly set his gaze back to the window, trying to avoid any sarcasm in his voice. A muscle on his face twitched, and he could barely contain his frustration.

Margrit smiled a little nervously. He tried to be stoic about it, but she could tell he was upset. “All right, I’ll be back later.” She opened the door, and before going out, she glanced back doubtfully for one last time. But then, she left, the bear followed, and the door was shut and locked. However, she always left him a key in the drawer, in case of emergencies. It would do little good antagonizing the Gaul further.

Asterix waited from the window until she vanished into the woods. When she was completely out of sight, his posture slumped and he groaned miserably. “This is _worse_ than being trapped by Inquest. At least there I didn’t have an open door to tempt me.” He huffed, letting his head support in the palm of his hand.

Dogmatix yawned and looked up at his master. He stood up, approaching the door intently. Asterix looked back down at the pup, watching as he placed his paws against the wood, peered back at Asterix again, and began to whine.

The Gaul smiled, then frowned apologetically. “Sorry buddy, I can’t go outside, and I can’t let you out on your own either. Something might try to eat you.”

Dogmatix responded by cocking his head sideways and letting out a yip. He turned back to the wooden door, scratching it slightly, and whining some more.

“Be happy you’re allowed to go out at all,” Asterix told as if the dog would understand.

The white terrier scratched the door some more, expecting Asterix to open it for him. But then, the dog perked his ears as he heard the sound of feet trudging through snow. They sounded heavier than Margrit’s. Dogmatix started to growl.

“What’s wrong?” asked Asterix. He turned his head to look out the window, spotting the silhouette of a large norn approaching the stead. From what he could tell, it was definitely not Margrit. Far too bulky, and no bear was to be seen. It unnerved the Gaul. What if it was one of those Sons of Svanir coming back for revenge?

If so, he would have to be ready for a fight. He jumped out of the seat, rushing to grab the sheath that contained his sword from Margrit’s weapon rack. He held his hand close to the blade’s handle, ready to grip it if the intruder decided to try and kick the door down.

But there was a friendly knock that sounded, not a kick. Dogmatix snarled, baring his teeth and growling while he backed up.

“Hush,” Asterix hissed.

The deep voice of a man came from behind the door. “I know yer ‘ere, I can hear ye. C’mon, open up. It’s me, Horin. Th’ repairman.”

Indeed, Asterix remembered that voice. It was a difficult one to forget, given that aside from the obvious accent, it sounded exactly like Obelix’s. That was all the confirmation he needed. His tensed pose relaxed and he set the sheath against the wall. “Okay, just a second.” He walked to the kitchen, dug into one of the drawers, and took the key out. He then approached the door again, unlocking it. A large, muscular and freckled norn man in heavy armor, accompanied with a long bow and quiver, stood there, grinning. He had long red hair tied at the back of his neck with a strap of leather, and his beard had braids in it. Tiny green eyes gazed down at the human.

“Oho! There ye be,” he said.

“Hello, Horin.”

“How’re ye doin’ lil’ man?” The norn scanned Asterix intently, noting the subtle bruises on his bare skin.

“Could be better, I guess.” Asterix answered while he let the man inside. “I don’t really like being called little. Just so you know,” he pointed out.

“Ah, what _do_ ye like bein’ called, then?” asked the norn as he walked in.

“By my name. Asterix,” the Gaul answered. He raised a hand halfway, but withdrew it again quickly when he remembered how strong a norn’s handshake was. Horin didn’t seem to mind. Either that or he simply did not notice.

“Well then, good t’ meet ye, Asterix.” The norn made himself at home, and sat down on a chair, raising a leg to rest a dirty boot against the table. Asterix stared disapprovingly. He knew Margrit didn’t like it when people smudged her house.

He cleared his throat, “Margrit isn’t here right now. Uh, did you want anything to drink?”

“Beer, if ye have it.” The norn smiled.

Asterix pondered. “Yeah, I think we do. Let me go look,” he said. There were indeed some barrels of beer stored neatly in the back of the kitchen. He took a gander at the smaller one to the front. He couldn’t quite make out the words scribbled on the wood, but he decided to bring it out anyway. The norn showed a sprightly smile when he saw the barrel rolling across the floor.

“Ah! Bear’s Brown. Ye got a refined taste!”

“I never had it.” Asterix gazed dumbly at the foreign letters on the barrel as he turned it back to its chime. “Couldn’t even tell what it is. I just picked the one I could get in here.”

“Ye never had it!?” Horin gaped in surprise. “Then have one with me! Promise ye’ll love it.”

The bung was unplugged, and two pints were filled. One full, one at half. In one swig, Horin chugged his beer half-empty, setting it down on the table with a loud clunk. Asterix was less excited, barely even touching the stuff. He just took a sip, then started fiddling with the mug’s handle while having a blank stare on his face.

Horin eyed the human. “What’s wrong? Is it too strong fer ye?”

“No, no. It’s fine. I’m just not really in the mood for it right now,” said Asterix, sighing. Horin then squinted. Not because the smaller man didn’t want the drink, but because he only now noticed how worn-out he really looked. There was a clean band aid carefully placed on one side of his head, almost fully hidden under his helm, near the temple where claws had cut into skin. It was secured with a strap of bandage. The same side of his face was also slightly discolored from physical trauma.

“How’d ye get them bruises on ye, lad?” Though the large man knew he should show more compassion, he couldn’t help but to grin like an idiot, as if he already knew the answer.

Asterix groaned under his breath. “It’s a long story… But in short, I acted like an idiot and shot someone in the leg.” He pointed at the sore side of his face. “This was their answer to me.”

“It was _you_ who got into a charr brawl!? ‘Tis really true then!” Horin laughed. “Must’a been glorious! Ye got real guts. I’m proud o’ ye.”

Asterix stared, dumbfounded. This was the first time he was being praised for the incident, and it came completely out of the blue. He didn’t even mention any charr. “What? How did you know?”

“Lad, _everybody’s_ talkin’ about it. ‘Tis a moot* thing. One charr who saw it happen told us ‘bout what ye did, and then word began t’ spread. A lil’- _I mean_ , a human, pickin’ a fight with a Blood legion charr?” Horin laughed and slammed a fist on the table. “Tha’s a winner!”

“Well, Margrit wasn’t all too happy about it.” Asterix sighed. “And I wasn’t exactly picking a fight. I tried to break it up. But instead I just got caught in it…” He carefully rubbed the side of his face, his jaw still feeling a bit stiff from the paw that collided with it.

“Either way, ‘tis real brave. Most humans wouldn’t even _dare_ doin’ what ye tried.” Horin said. He lifted his pint once more, and chugged the rest of the beer. “Where’s Margrit anyway?” he asked as he the empty mug down.

“Out hunting.”

“And ye didn’t go with her?”

“I would, but she won’t even let me take one step outside the door after that stupid incident!” Asterix sighed, and rubbed the temple that was not covered with bandage. “It kills me.”

“She don’t, eh?” Horin hummed, leaning back in the chair and fiddling his beard. “Tha’s… concernin’.”

Asterix looked up at the norn. “Concerning?”

Horin nodded, a thoughtful frown appearing on his face. “Just somethin’ personal. I’ll talk with her ‘bout it. Don’t ye worry yer head over it, kay?”

Asterix nodded quietly, even though he felt conflicted over it. If there was anything concerning about Margrit’s behavior towards him, it should be _his_ problem to solve, not someone else’s. But then again, being a good friend of hers, Horin probably knew her much better than he did, and would know what to do about it.

“Anywho, how ‘bout we do somethin’ fun?” Horin piped up. “Ye look as bored as a hyena tha’ can’t laugh.”

The Gaul let out a sarcastic chuckle. “There are some dirty dishes in the kitchen, if you want to have ‘fun’ here.”

“I was actually thinkin’ of somethin’ more excitin’. How ‘bout a lil’ huntin’?”

“As much as I love hunting, I can’t leave…”

“Why, what’s stoppin’ ye?” asked Horin. “Marge ain’t here, th’ door’s unlocked, and yer lil’ hound seems t’ want out too.”

“I don’t want to break her trust in me.”

“Listen ‘ere, buddy,” Horin leaned to the front and peered the smaller man in the eyes. “She may be thinkin’ yer unwell, but the question is: do _ye_ feel that way?”

Asterix backed up slightly when the norn got closer, looking a bit surprised. “N-no. A little sore, maybe. But not unwell.”

“Then, let’s go huntin’! She won’t ‘ave to know. Besides, ye only live n’ die once!”

Asterix rolled his eyes. “Live and die once… Load of bull,” he muttered.

“Wazzat?” Horin blinked. Asterix felt himself sink a bit in his seat upon realizing what he said. But then, thankfully, the norn hummed and leaned back again. “Actually, ye’re right. If ye were turned into undead, ye’d live n’ die more than once, I suppose.” He scratched the skin under his beard. “Good thing Zhaitan’s* a goner. Less stinkin’ livin’ corpses t’ deal with now.”

The Gaul cringed in disgust. He expected Horin to question his remark. Instead he learned Tyria also had an undead infestation. How lovely.

“Hey, c’mon, bud.” The norn leaned to the front once again, nudging Asterix in the arm where it didn’t look sore. “We’ll hunt somethin’ easy, like a deer. Ye’ll get to stretch yer legs. Whaddaya say?”

Asterix gave it some careful thought. “Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt if we’re gone for just a few minutes…”

“Tha’s more like it. Get ready. I’ll be waitin’ outside t’ keep an eye out.”

While Horin waited, Asterix got into his mountain gear. Provided with a budget, he visited Hoelbrak several days ago to buy some proper clothes specifically for the Shiverpeaks’ harsh weather conditions. Instead of one meager wool scarf, he now had a fur cloak, snow boots, padded vambraces, and even had enough money left for a single shoulder plate; all customized, of course. The norn didn’t forge armor for asura-sized people often, but they didn’t seem to mind doing it. After he was dressed for the outdoors, he approached the weapon rack and took out a small short bow, as well as a quiver with several arrows in it, and hung it around his unarmed shoulder. He also had his gun and sword attached to his belt. Just to be safe.

Now properly prepared for the hunt, Asterix stopped in front of the door and stared hesitantly. He knew that he was about to ignore an order from Margrit. The nagging thought of the possibility he might get caught gnawed at his mind. He may even be expelled from the steading as a guest.

But then again, what if he didn’t get caught? What harm could thirty minutes do? He wasn’t even planning to really _hunt,_ he just wanted to get some fresh air and take a nice walk. He could even go back to the stead early once he felt he had enough.

Was it worth the risk?

“Hey, the more ye wait, the less time we got,” Horin called out from behind the window.

“Okay,” he whispered to himself. Dogmatix waited impatiently, watching his human place a hand on the doorknob, and waiting several seconds to take a breath. Finally, he pulled.

The cold hit his face like a rock, but gods almighty, the air was so fresh! It was as though he had forgotten what the Shiverpeaks were like. It may be eternal frost out, but the aura of the place made him feel somehow stronger. It encouraged him to explore. Even Dogmatix was excited, jumping through the fresh snow and yipping happily.

Horin looked down at Asterix, grinning when he saw how much he already enjoyed being outdoors again. He eyed the bow in his hand. Isn’t that…?

“Nice lil’ shooter ye got there,” he remarked.

“Huh?” Asterix stared obliviously at the norn, then eventually looked down at the short bow in his hand. “Oh, yeah. I’m not really good with it yet. Margrit would let me practice with it on the trees.” He pointed a thumb at one old spruce behind him in particular. It had a bullseye painted on its bark, and there were at least a dozen arrows left and right, and up and down. None of them hit the actual target.

Horin grinned from ear to ear when he saw the miserable display of marksmanship. “Let’s see how well ye are with live targets, mate.” The norn took out his own bow from his back. Each limb spanned the Gaul’s own length. It was perhaps the largest bow he’d ever seen. The norn raised a hand, and pointed into the woods. “I know some good huntin’ grounds to the north. Let’s go.”

Asterix nodded. “Right behind you.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

The taiga forest was dense. The frost formed rime on bark, and the snow was thick and undisturbed, safe for the road. Along the side of the road, the footprints of two men led into the forest, away from the safety of the route. Some of the footprints were large, while the others were smaller, and shoveled snow along in their steps.

Asterix couldn’t help but feel nerved about what he was doing. His mind and body urged him to stop, turn, and go back. Yet the mountains beckoned, the wind whispering sweet promises of adventure. Something that he longed for a long while, especially in this unknown world, where everything was new to him. For all he knew, he could be sighting a feral minotaur. He’d been told they were quite common in the region. Or what if he met one of the ancient giants known as the Jotun? Best to hope they were friendly. Dogmatix was kept in his collar, otherwise he would become lost in the snow again.

Horin led the small hunting party, keeping nearly as quiet as death, which disturbed Asterix. It was very unusual for him to see a norn, who were normally quite cacophonous, making effort in being silent. But he knew he did this for a purpose. There was no point in alerting their presence to any creatures. When it came to hunting, the norn were quite the experts.

The wind was in their favor too. It crept uphill, while the two traveled down. Suddenly, Horin held a hand up. He saw something. They both knelt down and drew an arrow from their quivers. The Gaul gazed at the creature. It looked much like a bear, but also very different from a bear. Its snout was shorter, with long fangs sticking out from under its chops, giving it a menacing look. Its fur was gray like a wolf, and its back was hunched and concealed more muscle than fat.

“Arctodus,” the norn whispered. “Too dangerous fer a newbie. Stay ‘ere, I’ll take this one.”

“A _newbie?”_ Asterix scoffed. If anything he was a decent enough hunter! Nonetheless, he had to remember he was not in the position where he could just take on anything bare-handed. And so he obeyed, and stayed put while the norn stalked his target. While waiting, he began to look around, making sure he wasn’t being stalked by something else. In this wilderness, paranoia was, in fact, quite beneficial.

Suddenly, Dogmatix perked his ears, gazing into the bushes, and began to growl.

“What’s wrong?” He looked into the same direction. It was just a polar rabbit. It stared back at the two, black-tipped ears raised like antennas.

The pup hopped out of Asterix’s collar, barking and chasing after the critter, who dashed away into the bushes. Asterix in turn got up and chased after the pup. “No! Dogmatix, Here!” He crashed through the bushes, trying to catch up to the dog. Then, after a short chase, Asterix found himself needing to catch his breath. He stopped for a minute. Running uphill was no easy task.

After he recollected his air again, he called the animal’s name. “Dogmatix!”

The sound of yipping echoed in the distance. Asterix scanned the snow for footprints. Then, something else caught his eye. In the otherwise pristine snow surface, a splotch of blackness could be seen. At first, it looked as if coal was rubbed into it.

Curiously, Asterix approached the smudge, and noticed that it was something hidden under the snow. A twig, perhaps? But it glowed an eerie blue luminance. He knelt down beside it, took out a gloved hand and shoved some snow aside.

It was a shard of ice. Icy blue, with streaks of black crawling across its surface. That same blackness rooted itself into the snow, ever so slowly, as if corrupting it. He looked further, and found more shards of the dark ice hidden under the bushes. It looked as if it crept out from underneath, rooted into the ground and spreading as if it were a parasitic vine.

But how was that even possible? Ice didn’t normally grow, let alone even have any color. It wasn’t dense enough… Asterix hesitated. Maybe it was better off left alone. He should just find back Dogmatix, and-

Then, he abruptly raised his head, helm-wings raised like an alarmed hare. He heard a distressed scream in the distance. And the voice sounded familiar. It was the pained cry of a deep-voiced woman. He turned pale.

It was Margrit. He was sure of it. She was in trouble. He got up from his knees, rushing into the direction from where he heard Margrit’s voice. Dogmatix would find his way back. Most dogs did. As he ran, he noticed the same dark ice trailing like footsteps. It was as if some creature emitted this dark magic.

Soon, he came crashing through the thicket, finding the norness pinned to the ground in a clearing. Her bear was clubbed on the head, laying knocked out in the snow. And there was another, unknown figure; a norn male. He stood before her, bony back turned to Asterix. He held a mace in one hand, and an axe in the other. Both weapons were frozen in the man’s grip, his fists nothing but blocks of black ice, and he himself was covered in rime and frost. Spikes of black ice grew from his head and shoulders like horns.

_Black ice._ This man was the source of the anomaly.

“Margrit!”

“What?” the norness looked, and her face went pale with shock. Why was he here!?

The man also turned, and looked at Asterix. The Gaul’s eyes widened as he took a step back in horror. The man attacking Margrit _couldn’t_ be alive! His face was but a skull, with pale frozen flesh dangling from the bone. There was no blood that leaked, either drained from his body or turned solid. His eyeless sockets glowed with an icy blue aura. How was he even able to move, if he was dead and frozen like this?

“Run!” Margrit cried out. But the enemy approached Asterix, while he did not move, either standing his ground, or frozen in fear. She couldn’t tell.

“Come here, little man,” said the monster, his voice scratching like rock against ice. It swung the axe in its frozen grip around threateningly.

Asterix said nothing. He took an arrow from his quiver, setting it to his bow. Drawing back the string, he intended to cripple the creature. He could barely keep himself from gazing at its face. While keeping the arrow aimed at it, Asterix strafed to the side, not wanting to accidently shoot his friend. The threat did not faze the dead man, and he followed, slowly and eerily, watching the Gaul with piqued interest.

“Come any closer and I’ll shoot!” he yelled.

“Go ahead, shoot me. Jormag makes me invincible!” the creature retorted laughingly, not halting in its step.

“You can’t kill it! He’s too-” Margrit hissed in pain. “Just _run!”_

No, he wouldn’t run. Not when Margrit’s life was at stake! He released the arrow, and it struck the monster in the shin. He was expecting it to cry out in pain, but instead it didn’t even flinch, and it was still walking towards him. It laughed.

Quickly, Asterix drew out another arrow. This time, he aimed for the heart. Without even a second of hesitation, he pulled the bowstring, aimed, and released. It pierced an arm, but again, no flinch, no pain. Just laughter. The creature raised its axe, speeding its pace. “Die!”

The warrior stared in utter terror. His hand was about to reach for his sword out of instinct, but he realized he couldn’t fight this thing. In a stroke of panic, he jumped away at the last moment. The axe struck in the spot where he stood seconds ago.

Like an eagle, the monster did not avert his gaze from the human, the eyeless sockets of his skull piercing into the Gaul. Asterix paced back several feet, shakily reaching out for another arrow. The frozen man pulled the axe out of the ground with relative ease, and once again, began to approach him. This time, it ran towards him, wailing like the damned.

No time to flee. This was his last try. Asterix pulled the arrow back as far as he could, lending it all his strength as he aimed without anything to focus on, praying it would strike where it would hurt the thing.

The monster screeched. Margrit cried out his name.

He shut his eyes, and he let the arrow fly.

He heard a crack, a thud, and the screaming stopped.

…

_Am I dead?_

No, he couldn’t be. He wouldn’t be thinking otherwise. He wouldn’t be hearing the wind and feeling the cold air. He wouldn’t be breathing. Slowly, Asterix convinced himself to open his eyes.

The frozen norn laid before him, dead. _Truly_ dead. The arrow had struck it deep in its skull, killing the brain. Such luck he never had. There was no more eerie glow in its dull sockets, that would give away a sign of life. The force that animated and controlled it was gone.

Gazing at the corpse, he felt his stomach twist.

“Asterix,” a female voice whimpered.

Asterix snapped out of the trance, swallowing and forcing back his nausea. He quickly ran toward an injured Margrit. She held a hand firm against her bleeding arm. Her leg was clearly broken.

“Margrit, it’s okay! I’m going to get help,” he said. But he was greeted with rage and anguish.

“Why did you leave the stead!? You’re not strong enough!” she shouted. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “You never listen!”

Asterix simply stared back at her. He was speechless. Almost shaking.

Suddenly, Horin came crashing through the thickets. He had Dogmatix fitted in his hand. “There ye be! By Bear!” he cried. “I found yer beastie alone, and got wor-” he slowed down when he saw the scene. “What happen’d?”

“Horin! Help me up,” Margrit demanded. The man approached.

“No,” Asterix suddenly interrupted, shooting Horin a stern, angry gaze. He then turned the same look at Margrit.

“Stopping the bleeding is our first priority.”

“Don’t you dare,” Margrit hissed.

“I know what I’m doing,” said Asterix.

“Asterix, stop pretending to be a _hero!”_ her voice turned low and threatening, as if she were scolding a child. To Asterix, that was the last straw.

“And YOU stop acting like only YOU know what’s best!” he yelled in a fit of rage.

Then there was silence. Now it was her turn to be speechless. She could read fear in his eyes. Hear it in his voice. He was worried sick for her well-being, just like she was for his.

Finally, she closed her eyes and nodded obediently, and she allowed him to treat her. He inspected the wound carefully. The cut on her arm wasn’t very large, suggesting that she was able to fight off the frozen creature before he crippled her. However, the bleeding _was_ serious, indicating an artery was struck. With no preparation for a situation like this, Asterix took off his own belt, making sure the weapons tied around it were removed, and he wrapped it around the injury, fastening it just tightly enough so that the bleeding ceased mostly, but still allowed some circulation. Margrit cringed and hissed in pain. Meanwhile, Horin succeeded in waking the unconscious brown bear.

“That’s all I can do here. Now we need to get you home,” said Asterix.

“Aye, come on, lass.” Horin helped the disgruntled woman stand. And they slowly walked back to her stead. Bobbo stumbled behind.

Asterix and Dogmatix remained in the clearing for only a minute. He collected his weapons, fitting them under one arm, now that he had no belt to tie them to. He then also picked Dogmatix up in his free hand, making sure he wouldn’t run off again. He stopped for a moment, looking at the stain of blood in the snow, as well as the dead creature that laid further up. He remembered that it mentioned a name. Jormag, wasn’t it?

Jormag… one of those Elder Dragons.

_This_ was a dragon’s doing?

Whoever that man used to be, at least now he was free. Asterix had other problems to worry about now. And with that conclusion in mind, he began to walk south. To catch up with his friends.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

_* Moot: a celebration party among norn. Usually consists of drinking, boasting, brawling and storytelling._

_* Zhaitan: Elder Dragon of death and shadows_


	13. Perspectives

“I’m still mad at you, Asterix. Don’t think I’ll forget this easily,” Margrit’s voice rumbled. She repositioned herself on the bed she laid.

_I save your life and all you’ve done to show your appreciation is criticize, belittle and alienate me._

The blonde human stood by the bed, sneering, and playing those very words in his mind. But he refrained from saying them out loud, and he quietly continued to wrap the injury on Margrit’s arm with care. The bleeding had thankfully come to a halt. After he was done cleaning it using one of Margrit’s bottles of alcohol normally used for her work, the only thing left to do was covering it up with a proper bandage and making sure it stayed sterile.

Her left leg was worse off, and far beyond Asterix’s skills to treat. Something was definitely broken in the shin, and the flesh surrounding the bones turned sore, red and swollen on the way home. It must have taken a really good whack for it to end up looking the way it did. Leather bags full of snow were placed on the leg to keep the swelling contained and the pain to a minimum, just until the healer arrived.

He also preferred not to risk trying to treat it by himself, and getting kicked in the face by the other leg as he did, knowing that the woman was still very upset about him going out into the wild without her consent. Who knew what she was capable of.

But why couldn’t she see that he was doing fine? He is not a cagebird! In fact, if it weren’t for him, she and her bear would have likely been no more.

Finally, he secured the bandage around Margrit’s arm. He only got a bloodied belt and a glare in return for his efforts. _What, not even a simple ‘thank you’?_

The mutual silence, combined with the heated atmosphere between the two, made Horin feel like something could go wrong at any minute. Unless he could distract them from the situation.

“What was an Icebrood minion doin’ this far south anyway?” he asked while keeping an eye out the door, waiting for the healer to arrive. Asterix looked up at the norn. So what they encountered was an _’Icebrood’._ Would have to keep that in mind, he concluded in thought.

“They must be getting bolder,” Margrit replied dully. “It caught me by surprise. I didn’t think one would creep into Hoelbrak’s hunting grounds. Not this close to the city. They’re usually smarter than that, especially after Destiny’s Edge taught them a lesson.*” She sighed.

Asterix raised a brow. “If they haven’t come this close before, then why would one try to do so now?”

“Who cares? It’s dead now.” Margrit replied. “It won’t hurt anyone again.”

The Gaul sneered once more. “Look, I don’t know much about dragon minions, but I _do_ know that thing was intelligent. I doubt one just comes walking into a bar to have a beer with the other patrons. We should at least warn the people before something like this happens again.” He looked at Margrit’s broken leg. “In fact, I’m going to Hoelbrak tomorrow to bring this to Knut’s* attention.

“Horin will take care of that,” Margrit suddenly spoke up. Asterix clenched his jaws and balled a fist. Horin eyed the human nervously. The little man was just about ready to snap a second time.

“Won’t you?” she asked while looking at the big man.

“Oh. Uh, ‘course I _would,_ but don’t ye think-”

Then, the sound of knocking on the front door caught their attention. Dogmatix barked responsively, and Horin puffed a sigh. Thank the spirits. The healer was here at last.

“I’ll get it,” Asterix said as calmly as he could. He made no eye contact with either norn, and turned around quickly, leaving the room. His dog followed close behind. Horin frowned, and shook his head in silent disappointment.

This whole situation was such a big mess. There had to be a way to fix it.

A minute after that, a white-bearded old norn man in leather clothes, trimmed with bear fur and raven feathers, walked into the room. He had a bag full of herbal remedies and other tools, both for resetting bones and binding wounds. Margrit watched the door impatiently, expecting Asterix to also return. But neither he nor Dogmatix reappeared.

“Well, then,” the elder spoke up in a gentle tone. “Your friend told me what happened. Let’s see how bad it is.” The old man glanced to Horin. “Would you be so kind to pull up a chair for me, lad? My back isn’t so well anymore these days.” Horin complied, quickly taking a chair and setting it behind the man to sit, so he could treat the woman’s leg without a hassle.

“Horin?” Margrit asked.

“Aye?” Horin looked at her. “What is it?”

“I’m worried about Asterix. Could you check on him for me?”

“Sure. I ‘ave t’ talk with ‘im anyway.”

And with that, he too walked out of the room, allowing the mender to do his work. Margrit was in good hands. Right now, his concern was Asterix. He hoped he wouldn’t see the little man outing his frustration in a way that might get himself hurt. But as he entered the living quarters of the stead, he found him in an even worse state. He was already fitted in his outdoor gear, packing up whatever belonged to him.

“What’re ye doin’?” Horin asked.

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m leaving.” Asterix replied in an annoyed tone while he fitted his revolver into its holster.

“It’d be very unwise t’ walk away, lad.”

The Gaul suddenly stood up and turned to face Horin. A dark glare was on his face, and a voice filled with fury escaped his mouth. “Why shouldn’t I? Better yet, who will stop me? _Anything_ is better than living with that... _that…”_ Asterix let out a cry of frustration, pacing back and forth. “She won’t trust me with _anything_ anymore! Good job, Asterix! _Great job!_ Everything I do here goes _wrong!”_ He continued to condemn his actions, nearly pulling the hair from his head. Eventually he stopped pacing, facing the wall at but inches away from his face. “I…I’m weak and useless.” He finally allowed himself to lean forward, letting his forehead smack against the hard wooden surface with a thud.

_“Ow..”_

Horin couldn’t help but feel guilty of the situation. After all, it was him who convinced the Gaul to go outside. He had to fix this, somehow. He was unsure though, if his words would help in any way. Nonetheless, he tried.

“Ye ain’t useless. And ye can’t just leave, either. Not at night. There be nasty things out there. Nobody ‘ere wants ye t’ end up gettin’ killed. An’ believe me…” Horin sank to a knee near the Gaul, placing a hand on his shoulder to get his attention. “There be plenty o’ nasty ways to die out there, especially for them less experienced lads. All I ask of ye is t’ stay ‘ere at least ‘till dawn. I’ll talk with ye after the ‘ealer’s gone.”

The Gaul remained silent for a moment, but then he finally let out a sigh. “Fine. I’ll wait.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

Later toward that night, Asterix sat on the floor near the fireplace. He was impatient, watching his fingers tapping on the coffee table. Dogmatix laid close to him, watching him curiously. And with no lack of concern. This whole day, if not the entire time since they came to this otherworldly place, was anything but the usual routine. Sure, they finally hunted for the first time in a long while, but that ended quicker than when Obelix would catch up on a fleeing Roman patrol. He missed playing with his master.

Asterix continued to fidget about impatiently. Was it because of the waiting, or was it really taking so long? He looked out at the flames of the hearth, and began to replay the day’s events in his mind. It began with the hunt, trading indoors safety for adventure, despite what was asked of him. Then, he remembered the black ice, crawling across the snow-covered ground like a vine. The Icebrood monster, who hobbled and nearly killed Margrit…

Then there was Jormag.

_Jormag._ That stupid name kept popping up like a bad song that got stuck in his head. Just like that dragon aspect in his dreams.

“I hate this.” he muttered, petting Dogmatix on the head gently. “I hate this dream, I hate those damned dragons… Hate it all. Wish I could punch them in the face.”

To his surprise, an elderly voice responded to his grumping. “A human punching an Elder Dragon in the face? Now that would be quite a sight.”

Asterix raised his head, turning to see who answered. It was the healer, reentering the living quarters.

“Good news, friend. The lady will make a full recovery. It’ll take a while though. Both shin bones are fractured and had to be put back in place and secured with splints. My healing magic will speed up recovery, but make sure she stays out of trouble for at least six weeks. Seven is better.”

“Right,” Asterix answered flatly. Though he didn’t plan to stay for another week, let alone six or seven. Anyone can do the job of taking care of her, but one thing was set in his mind; it was _not_ going to be him. His stomach was full of Margrit’s tyranny.

“I’ll come visit every once in a while to check on her progress. May the spirits be in your favor,” the man said. Then, Asterix got up and led the norn out the front door. He noted that it was indeed dark out at the time. But if an old man wasn’t afraid to go out on his own at night, then why should he be?

No, he said he would stay, at least until dawn… He locked the door and turned back to sit at the table. He then remained there, tapping the table with his fingers once more. Dogmatix walked up to him and sat down near the chair, eyeing him, wondering what they were waiting for this time. It was long past supper time, and they hadn’t had a bite to eat. Normally at home, they would have gone back out to hunt by now. But not this time, and Dogmatix was confused about why that was. It didn’t take very long until the pup began to whine.

Asterix turned his head, staring down at him. The pup had a begging look in his eyes.

“Hungry?”

Dogmatix yapped.

“So am I.” He raised a hand, holding it before his mouth, and he let out a long yawn. He couldn’t remember the last time he slept well anymore.

Finally, the door creaked open once more. Horin came walking - almost tip-toe-ing - into the room. Before Asterix was able to ask questions, the man raised a finger to his lips, hushing.

“He gave ‘er somethin’ t’ sleep better.” Horin whispered, as he gently closed the door, making as little sound as he could.

“Is she still mad at me?” Asterix asked quietly.

“Less mad than b’fore.” The big norn sat down on a chair, looking down at the human. “Sorry ‘bout puttin’ ye through this mess. Hope ye change yer mind ‘bout leavin’ though. Things can still be fix’d.”

“Don’t tell me what can be fixed,” Asterix hissed, glaring at the norn. “What’s the use trying to, anyway? She won’t reason with me. It’s either leave or be _grounded_ here for a decade.” He moped, slumping over the table.

“Well, I mean…” Horin pulled at his chair and scooted a little closer. “Sure, she got a lil’ carried away with protectin’ ye when she saw ye got hurt. But remember, she only means th’ best fer ye.”

“You must mean she’s _obsessed_ with protecting me. I’m starting to think she sees me as a little kid.”

“As far as size goes,” said Horin, frowning. “But I’m afraid yer suspicion’s ‘bout as accurate as it can get.”

Asterix shifted his eyes to look at the norn, his arms still spread across the table in a slumped pose. What was that big bloke going on about this time? “What do you mean?” He squinted.

“I didn’t want t’ tell ye this, since I was hopin’ t’ talk it out, with ‘er, but… Well, ye see…” Horin leaned closer, and he lowered his voice to a half-whisper. “She misses bein’ a mother.”

_“What?”_ Asterix shot up as if someone shook him awake.

“She had a kid once. Lively lil’ man. Always ran ‘bout with a bow - the one ye had with ye. He even had blonde hair. She loved ‘im t’ bits, like a real mother.” Horin leaned back a little. “But one day he left th’ safety of Hoelbrak, t’gether with his friends, an’ they went too deep into the woods. He got separated from th’ group, fell down a gap, and his friends came runnin’ back, cryin’ for help. We began a rescue party…” Horin looked back at the door from which beyond Margrit slept. “And…well,”

Some seconds passed.

“What happened?” Asterix asked quietly. Anticipation and worry ate at his mind. This could never end well.

“A dragon minion found ‘im before we did…” the norn answered somberly. Those words. It almost made Asterix’s jaw drop in astonishment. He now knew Margrit _did_ treat him like a child, but she didn’t do it intentionally, maybe not even consciously. She only did what she thought was best. The ways she reacted, when she saw he got injured, when he faced that dragon minion… He became a reincarnation of that child in her eyes.

It all made so much sense now.

“I…” Asterix stuttered. A rueful frown formed on his face. “I never knew. If only I did, I wouldn’t have…” He shook his head in remorse. “I have to apologize to her.”

“That can wait ‘till mornin’. ‘Sides, it ain’t yer fault. Ye two just need t’ talk it out t’gether,” Horin reassured. He then squinted, eyeing the human. “Ye ain’t lookin’ so hot yerself either. Maybe we shoulda had th’ ‘ealer check on ye too.”

Asterix blinked, trying to understand what Horin meant.

“Yer eyes, mate.” the big man suggested a fat finger at his own eyes.

“Oh, that.” Asterix replied dully. “I’m fine. I just haven’t slept well lately...” He glanced toward the makeshift cot that served as his bed for the past weeks. The bedsheets were untidied. He attempted to hold back a yawn, but halfway failed, making for an awkward display. “I doubt I’ll sleep any better tonight,” he said finally.

“Sorry t’ hear. That thing with th’ dragon nightmares?”

Asterix’s eyebrows furrowed a bit. “Did Margrit tell you that?” Why, of course she did. Who else could it have been? He wondered what else she would have told him.

“Aye, she did.” Horin leaned back a bit in his chair again. “She also said she wanted to try ‘n do somethin’ ‘bout it. But that’s all she said t’ me.”

“Even one dreamless night would be a gift from the gods right about now.” Another yawn stirred. This time, he didn’t fight it. “But I should probably try to get some shut-eye, at least.”

Horin suddenly sported a big grin. “Aye, sounds like a plan. I’m sure ye’ll figure things out with Margrit t’morrow. ‘N don’t worry, I’ll be stickin’ ‘round t’ help too.”

Asterix nodded, a bit drowsily, but smiling back. “Good idea, I’m going to need help taking care of a woman four times my size.”

“So that means yer stayin’? Good!” Horin’s grin turned wider, and he became his own, cheerful self again. He bopped the little man in the arm using his fist again, just very carefully, to be sure he wouldn’t accidently knock him over. That cheerfulness just reminded Asterix all the more of how much Horin resembled Obelix. Not by a whole lot, mind; this ‘Obelix’ was more muscle than fat, though not any stronger than the real deal. But perhaps that subtleness was for the better. Asterix couldn’t help even feeling a bit nostalgic about it.

Good old Obelix. If only you were here; then things would have been so much easier.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

As he expected, Asterix couldn’t sleep. He fumbled about in bed a little, trying to find a comfortable position. But every time he was about to doze off, he shook awake again. Sometimes, it was a noise from outside. Other times, he woke himself involuntarily. It was a great bother, this amnesic night. Horin had left the stead late in the night to head home himself. He didn’t want to worry his family.

Again that owl, hooting away at its leisure. Couldn’t it pick a different house to perch on? He groaned, grabbing his pillow and placing it over his head. Perhaps that will drown out any outdoor sound. But even if that helped, he couldn’t stop thinking about what he learned. About the horrible things Margrit experienced. The image of in what state they found her son back… he couldn’t shake it off. He could only imagine what it was like to lose a child of his own.

_Gods,_ how must his parents feel to lose him?

The owl hooted once more. By Toutatis, a bird couldn’t be this loud! At this point, Asterix could almost come walking out the house and start throwing rocks at it. He pulled the pillow from his face, looking out the window. A thin crust of rime had formed on the glass. What time was it, anyway? Slowly, he shuffled out of the bed, approaching the window. He only made sure not to make too much noise. After all, he wasn’t alone in this room. There was still a dog and a bear, both cuddled up and sound asleep.

He leaned forward, hands placed on the window stool, standing at the tips of his toes, and eyes scanning the outside. It was brighter out than before. Dawn was approaching, and he hadn’t slept a wink. _Lovely._

He concluded he might as well get dressed and check to see how Margrit was doing. He wouldn’t mind making some early breakfast, either. Considering nobody had eaten anything since last night. They all would probably appreciate it.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

Slowly, the door creaked open. The room was dark, lit only by subtle, pale sun rays that cast through the curtains. Carefully, a foot shuffled the big door aside, attempting to make enough room for a small body to pass through.

Asterix held a plate of food in his hands. It was supposed to be breakfast for Margrit, but it was merely cooked vegetables and half a loaf of bread, since there was not much else around. He eyed the bed suspiciously, waiting and listening, helm-wings perked high like rabbit ears. He held his breath a little so he could listen better.

There was a long moment of silence, but then, the woman in the bed emitted a deep snore.

_Still asleep. That’s good at least._ He slowly made his way to the bed, Dogmatix pitter-pattered closely behind him, and moments later, a big black bear nose shoved the door open, flinging it against the wall. Asterix flinched in surprise, almost making him drop the plate in his hands. He shot Bobbo a scolding glare.

A disgruntled moan caught the Gaul’s attention. He held his breath, praying the bear’s clumsiness didn’t wake her. Thankfully, she only shifted about a little before continuing to sleep.

“Stay here,” he whispered to both animals. Dogmatix sat down obediently, while Bobbo eyed him questioningly with large black eyes. But he obeyed, and stayed put.

Carefully, Asterix continued to approach the king-sized bed. He kept a close eye on the figure underneath the bedsheets, making sure she wouldn’t awaken. Deep inside, he was still afraid to face her wrath. Finally, the final steps. Silent as a mouse, he placed the plate on her bedside table. Now it was just a matter of leaving the room without getting caught. But then he looked at the bedsheets another time, the silhouette of the norness slowly moving up and down as she breathed. Her face was tucked away from his view.

Oh, how envious he was of her, to be able to sleep so well. Just watching her made his eyelids heavier than they already felt. It made him wander off in thought.

“I’m sorry about what happened to you,” he whispered quietly.

The Gaul eyed the stool that stood beside the bed. It was used by the healer earlier, and had not been moved back since. He sat down on it, looking back at her again.

“I’m sorry about what you lost, and that I made you relive those events… I really am.” A yawn unexpectedly forced its way out. He felt that he was beginning to doze off. He placed an elbow on the bed, letting his head rest on his hand a bit. Maybe… Just a little shut-eye… that won’t do any harm. He’d be out of the room again before Margrit even knew he was here. He allowed his eyes to close, and his mind became a blur. Thoughtless, peaceful and uncaring.

For that sweet moment, nothing really mattered anymore. Only the blissful silence. Finally, some sleep.

That peace wouldn’t last, however. As he slowly entered the world of dreaming, black scaled skin took shape. A deep growl, primordial and earthly, rumbled as crimson fangs bared once more. There was screaming in the distance. Two pale eyes flashed open, and the maw that snarled spoke his name. Time after time. The wails of the damned intensified as it repeated the name, becoming louder every time.

“Asterix? Asterix!”

Asterix shot up from Margrit’s bed, letting out a distressed yelp. His neck stung painfully from the sudden move, making him flinch and hiss. He raised a hand and rubbed his neck, trying to massage the muscles that had stiffened from resting in such an uncomfortable position.

Not again… These dreams really needed to stop.

“Hey, you okay? Was it that dream again?”

That was Margrit’s voice. He carefully turned his head, and he was met with concerned silver eyes.

“Yeah,” Asterix sighed. He could tell in her eyes that she was not tired from waking up. She was tired from lacking sleep. “How do you feel?”

“Not comfortable, but not in pain either.” Margrit replied. Her voice was calm, a little bit sad, even, but void of anger. “I’m sorry.”

Asterix blinked at her. “You can’t help I’m having those nightmares,” he replied.

“No, it’s not that.” Her face turned into a depressed frown. “I mean, I’m sorry for treating you like you were… someone else.” She looked away shamefully. “It was very disrespectful of me.”

Surprised, Asterix grimaced. “You heard us talk about that?”

“I didn’t hear all of it, but enough to learn I made a big mistake. And…” She started to fiddle with her hands. “…I was awake the whole time. I just didn’t want to startle you.”

“Oh.” Asterix returned a guilty look. “I’m sorry I worried you, and that you had to hear that.”

“Hey,” Margrit smiled slightly. “If Horin didn’t tell you about it at all, I probably wouldn’t even have realized that I was doing something wrong… Things would have been even worse then.” Margrit felt a tear forming behind her eyelids when she thought of the words she was about to say. But she kept herself collected when she spoke. “Yes. I miss my little Ilan a lot... But that doesn’t make my actions just.”

“I forgive you.” Asterix tried to smile back, but a thought lingered in the back of his mind. If she was a mother, that would mean she probably had a husband once as well. Where that man was now, he couldn’t bear to ask. What that also meant was that she was lying to him about her being without companionship. But in a way, he could understand why she did.

Margrit watched the Gaul getting lost in thought again. She read it in his tired eyes. Eventually, she decided to break the silence. “Nice job taking that Icebrood down, by the way.”

Asterix snapped out of thought, looking back at Margrit. He made a sarcastic grin. “That was just luck. I’m terrible with a bow.”

Margrit began to smile again. “But every time you released an arrow, you hit the target. It’s much better than when you practiced on the tree.”

“Well, he was _fatter_ than that tree.” He couldn’t hold back a more genuine smile from forming on his face. “There was less distance between us too. Also…”

Margrit suddenly snorted out a laugh. “Oh, stop that! You’re so silly when you keep making up excuses!”

Asterix stared, a little dumbfounded. The smile on his face quickly made way for an insulted frown. _”Silly?”_

“Yes,” said Margrit, smiling back warmly. “Look, you can tell yourself whatever you want, but you did good! Your practicing is starting to bear fruit.”

“I…suppose.”

“Also, the healer wanted me to give you his compliments.” Margrit suggested towards her bound arm. “He said you did so well binding my injury that he wasn’t going to redo it. Who taught you to do that?”

“Oh,” Asterix sheepishly scratched the back of his neck, even turning a little red from the laudation. “Well, back home, our village druid used to teach me how to bind wounds and other things about medicine. It was really more in case if someone got hurt or sick, and he wasn’t there to help. Then I would be able to take over.”

“Clever. He picked the right person to teach,” said Margrit.

“Yeah, except it doesn’t help a lot if neither of us are around in case something bad happens.” Asterix looked away, at the curtained window. “Your know, there isn’t a day that goes by that I’m not wondering how they’re doing… Maybe they’re fine…” He let out a depressing sigh. “But what if they’re not? What if the Romans are planning something? What if they’re facing dangers like in my dream?”

Margrit raised a hand, placing it on Asterix’s shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. “I’m sure they’re all fine. Your big friend is still there to protect them.”

He looked back at her, her silver eyes shimmering with confidence. If only he could have shared that same sentiment. “Strength is one of the things my village rarely lacks. But, like you said, that gift turned us into overconfident idiots. I mean, no offense to them, but now that I’m completely without the magic potion, I realize how dependent I am of it. I keep running headlong into danger, only to be reminded I can’t fight it.”

Margrit’s smile faded slightly. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You still have your wit. You’ll just have to be more careful.”

“Hope I’ll learn to be more careful _before_ I get myself killed.”

“I’m sure you will,” she said. He didn’t seem to cheer up much, though. Instead he turned away, feeling ever less like himself.

“Asterix, I promise. If there is a way, I will help you get home.”

He looked back at Margrit, surprised at what she said. “Really? You don’t mean that.”

“I do. I’ll help you even if I have to sail to Cantha for it,” Margrit answered.

He began to chuckle. “I heard Cantha’s very far away. You sure you want to make such a big commitment?”

“Yes,” Margrit simply answered. Her voice had never sounded as serious before.

Then, he was speechless. She couldn’t _possibly_ mean that. The odds he would ever go home were close to none; that much he was sure of. Why would she pull at his heartstrings like that? “I...” he stammered.

“Now, try to get some rest.” She smiled again. “I need you to do groceries later.”

The Gaul stared back at her with a blank expression. Slowly, a smile formed on his face. “Does that mean I’m free to leave the roost?”

Margrit laughed. “I won’t stop you. Just stay out of trouble from now on.”

He nodded in agreement. “Will do.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

_* From the second official Guild Wars 2 novel Edge of Destiny._

_* Knut Whitebear: ‘chief’ of Hoelbrak._


	14. Message from Rata Sum

The sun hung low, casting a subtle, soft warmth in the otherwise cold mountainous land. A single stead, not too far away from civilization, stood cozily surrounded by a forest of evergreens. The chimney bellowed, giving away the smell of burning coal as well as roasting, well-spiced meat. Margrit sat on her bench in front of her home. She was accompanied by her brown bear, sitting beside her, and a tiny white dog was cupped in her hand, tongue lolling about cheerfully. Two crutches laid next to her on the bench, and her left leg was wrapped in a firm cast from her foot up to her knee.

Though despite what unfortunate events made her wind up with a broken leg, she was smiling. Smiling at a once proud, thick spruce tree, that was now covered in puncture holes and arrows. She averted her gaze, looking back at her friend. Asterix.

He stood motionlessly, arrow drawn far back on his bow. Pure concentration could be read on his face as he calculated his next shot. He was in fact so still, if he weren’t breathing and blinking occasionally, he could have been mistaken for a statue. Finally, he let go of the bowstring, and the arrow flew. It zipped past in front of his audience, striking the tree with a loud thwack. Asterix’s pose relaxed as he gazed at his work, a smile forming on his face. Margrit let Dogmatix down on the bench, and she began to clap.

“That was your best one so far. Great job,” she said.

Asterix turned his head to Margrit. “I’m too slow.”

Margrit grinned, shaking her head dismissively. It was true, though. He took a long time to aim, which would be disadvantageous in a combat situation. But when speed wasn’t a factor, his precision was like an eagle’s. He had a strong affinity for it, but they still needed to work out a lot of kinks.

“All right, then we’ll work on that tomorrow.” Margrit reached out for one of her crutches, setting it under her armpit and using it as support to raise herself. “Now it’s time to eat. You’re all out of arrows anyway.”

“Okay,” he replied, setting the bow on his back. He paced up to the door, opening it for Margrit to walk inside. “After you, M’lady.” He made a polite bow. Margrit couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Why, thank you,” she smiled. Bit by bit, she made her way into the stead. After she and both animals were indoors, Asterix followed, stopping within the doorway only to take a glance back outside. He gazed at the sky, filling itself with deep pink and orange colors. The days were slowly growing shorter and darker, signifying that summer was coming to an end. It did not sit well with him at all. He was still getting used to the cold, and now, it was getting even colder. He felt the difference already. The only benefit he could think of was that he could doze off by the fireplace more, which was turning into a favored pastime. There wasn’t much else to do, in these quiet days. And it helped him catch some sleep.

But the cold wasn’t even what bothered him the most.

He suddenly heard Margrit’s voice call him. “Hey, you coming?”

Asterix did not answer, silently turning back inside. Just as he was about to close the door, he heard the voice of a young man calling him.

“Sir! Sir, wait please!”

“Hm?” Asterix turned to look. A lanky boy came running to him, waving his hand. The kid had a full head of scruffy black hair and was at least two heads taller than him. He kept a leather bag hanging over his shoulder and a bow and quiver on his back. Probably a teenager, but Asterix had trouble judging a norn’s age, them being so much taller than himself. The boy slowed down as he approached him, taking a moment to catch his breath.

“Hey, what are you doing out here so late?” Asterix asked.

The young man raised himself after he had a good few breaths of air. Definitely, three heads taller. “Is this Strolfdottir’s stead?”

“Yes, you’re at the right place,” Asterix replied.

Then, the black-haired boy quickly dug into his bag and took out a neatly folded piece of paper, sealed with candlewax. He offered it to him. Asterix gazed at it intently, taking hold of it.

“It’s a letter for her,” said the boy. Asterix stared at the envelope, surprised. Letters made from lightweight paper, rather than heavy tablets of stone? How clever! People back home could definitely learn a thing or two from Tyria, especially Postaldistrix*.

“Thanks, kid. I’ll give it to her.” Asterix looked back up and smiled, but that smile quickly faded when he realized the boy was off again. Probably didn’t want to be late for supper. His stomach growled. It didn’t feel like waiting any longer either.

Asterix turned back to the door, locking it behind him. Margrit sat at the table, eyeing him with the letter in his hand that he examined with the curiosity of a child. She started to giggle, resting her head on her hands. “Never seen a letter before?” she asked.

“Not one like this,” he replied offhandedly, still staring at the envelope. He walked past the table and handed it to her.

As he walked toward the kitchen, he discarded the strappings that held his bow and quiver, hanging them on the weapon rack. The kitchen smelled of rich spices as a large slab of meat roasted in the stone oven. Two tall iron pans were each boiling potatoes and root vegetables. He inspected each food carefully, making sure they were all cooked well, before serving them neatly on two plates.

Of course, Bobbo and Dogmatix were not forgotten. As usual, they each got a share of raw meat. It turned out, Bobbo would go crazy for some cooked carrots.

When the last plate was served and he sat down on the opposite end of the table, Margrit had cut open the envelope and was reading her letter. Her eyes were fixated on it, squinting even. She pressed her lips thin, grunting in slight annoyance.

“What’s wrong?” Asterix asked as he picked up his fork.

“It’s Pluxx, my tattoo ink provider. He’s wondering why I haven’t picked up my last order.” She laid the letter down on the table. The written words that were supposed to represent New Krytan handwriting were nothing but chicken-scratchings to Asterix.

Asterix raised a brow, looking at Margrit. “You buy your ink from an asura?” His voice came out a bit more cynical than he intended. But by now, he could tell someone’s racial background just by hearing their names, and he was not fond of asura at all. Margrit looked down at him, noting the sudden unease from the Gaul.

“Relax. He’s only a merchant. He sells self-produced ink. It’s more colorful than anything else I’ve ever used.”

“Non-toxic, I hope,” Asterix remarked darkly while he pricked a piece of red beet with his fork.

Margrit stared at him. “Getting racist, are we?”

He flinched at those words, nearly choking in a mouthful of beet. “Ouch, that’s low!” He looked back at her, and she returned him a judgmental glare. As a response, his helm-wings gave away a sudden flush of shame.

“Okay, I get it. Sorry. I just…can’t seem to trust them.” He nervously scratched the back of his head, looking down at his food.

“Take it easy,” Margrit said, her features softening once more. “Not all asura are part of the Inquest. Pluxx can be trusted. Okay, I admit, he can be a little impatient.”

“That explains the letter,” he mused. The word ‘Inquest’ though, it gave him chills hearing it again.

“I’ll have to write him back. I can’t go to Rata Sum with my leg…” Margrit finally took her fork and knife and began to eat.

Asterix lost his will to eat though. He began to poke at his food a little. He felt bad, realizing he had trust issues toward an entire race like that, only because of what a select few of them put him through. The first that came to his mind was that he wanted, no, _needed,_ to overcome it. Preferably as soon as possible… Then, his face suddenly lit up. An idea. “I could go,” he spoke up.

Margrit stopped cutting into her steak for a moment, looking up at Asterix, slightly surprised. “What? You just said you don’t trust asura.”

Asterix shook his head. _”Can’t._ There’s a difference. But I want to get over that. Think about it. I get to do a little sightseeing, absorb their culture, and you won’t run out of ink.”

Margrit blinked. Quickly, a wide grin formed on her face. “Oh, I see. Not a bad idea.”

At that moment, Bobbo poked his pudgy head over the table near Asterix, nose wiggling when he eyed the carrots on his plate. Asterix felt the air puffing from Bobbo’s nostrils on his arm, and he looked down on a begging face. _”No,”_ he said sternly, putting his hand on the bear’s head and pushing him away. Bobbo whimpered like a spoiled child.

“You sure you want to go through with this, though?” Margrit questioned. “I can understand you’re not comfortable around them after what they – I mean, some of them – did to you.” She focused on cutting her steak again. “And to be perfectly honest, I don’t like the idea of you going there.”

He looked back at Margrit, feeling slightly uneased. Since the incident with her broken leg several weeks ago, the two had developed a much deeper understanding for one another. He knew she tried hard to act less like a worried mother, but he could also understand why she was doubtful of his choice. Still, he had to at least try, for her to be able to continue her work, if not for his own good.

“Don’t make me change my mind now…” said Asterix.

Margrit let out a nervous laugh, “Okay, okay. I’ll give you Pluxx’s address. Just don’t take too long out there. And stay away from the city’s lower chambers.”

Asterix forced out a fake smile. “Noted.”

She smiled back. “Now let’s eat. Food is getting cold.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

The rotating wheel of the asura gate sparked a bright purple magic, allowing Asterix and his white dog to pass through. He still wasn’t fond of using asuran gates, but he wasn’t afraid of it anymore. It was after all the most efficient and, as claimed by the asura, ‘safest’ way of travel. The earlier cold of mountain land made way for the more pleasing warmth of Kryta’s coastline on a late summer. Being greeted by a fresh sea breeze made him smile and glow with health, and forget about his worries for a moment. The day couldn’t possibly start any better. For Lion’s Arch now truly lived up to the nickname that Asterix once remembered giving it.

After several weeks of hard work, the city was now officially done rebuilding, transforming it into a fortified bastion. He still remembered how the city looked less than appealing last time he visited. Before, it was a wreckage, no more than the ruined leftovers of a once proud city. Now, it was a testament to the races uniting against one global threat. Lion’s Arch welcomed people of all races back into the safety of its walls. Even the city’s gatehub, leading to all the other cities of Tyria, had been glorified, turned from a small cliff range into a plaza in which the asura gates were positioned to face one another in a great circle, and in the middle, a garden of various tropical trees.

Adventurous and eager-spirited that he was, Asterix couldn’t help but wanting to do a little sightseeing around the new city. It wouldn’t take long, he thought to himself. Then he’d go straight to picking up that parcel in Rata Sum and head back to Hoelbrak. “Come on,” he said to Dogmatix, and he began to walk, while the little pup trotted happily behind him.

He began the tour by visiting the main market. Immediately, Asterix noticed the nautical theme it sported, designed to attract tourism. Some of the main buildings looked like various sea creatures, including giant seashells, crabs, and there even was a bank resembling an octopus. A clever tactic, that much was clear, but in his opinion, it was a bit ridiculous. Though fondly remembering Edifis’* architectural skills, he had seen much worse. He couldn’t stop grinning about it.

The tactic worked, either way. The city was bustling with people and commerce. Despite such a great range of creatures that dwelled here, everybody showed great respect, if not they simply refrained from being trouble makers. Even the less-than-peaceful charr obeyed the house rules, greeting even their once ages-old enemy, the humans, with a certain amount of respect. And they were respectful back. It was actually a pleasant surprise, when an old, rather gnarly looking charr walked past and simply saluted Asterix with a “Hey”. Naturally, he politely returned the greeting.

What baffled him the most, though, was the city’s new line of defense. Not only were there Lionguard constantly patrolling the city; every so often, he would hear faint humming above him. Looking up, Asterix saw another of those flying galleys, hanging high in the sky like a cloud that overlooked all that happened below. How these ships were even capable of doing what they did was still far beyond his understanding, but he was sure there was highly advanced technology behind it all, and perhaps a touch of magic, as well. Huge cannons dotted the pier and coastline, and an enormous light tower guarded the bay’s entrance, ensuring that whoever sailed in was friendly.

It was actually a little scary, to think that they had to make such precautions. But from what he overheard, there were very good reasons for it. The city had been the preferred target of enemies in the past years. And judging from some people’s gossiping, one sylvari by the name of Scarlet Briar was the least favorite attacker of all. In fact, she was the reason Lion’s Arch ended up the way it looked the first time he visited.

How could one manic sylvari have done all that, and why? Thank the gods it was all in the past now. Whatever the enemy might throw at it now, Lion’s Arch was more than prepared to take it on.

Eventually he left the chaotic atmosphere of the inner city, strolling through the streets and finally reaching the bay. The sight of the beach and smell of the sea stirred in him the feeling of nostalgia. He saw two children playing in the shallow sea. Despite their differences, they were laughing and having the time of their lives, splashing water and chasing each other.

Dogmatix started barking, rushing over the sand to them. Surprised, Asterix called out to him. “Dogmatix, wait! Heel!”

But when he saw the children welcoming the little dog with cheering and squealing, he realized what an idiot he was. What harm could it do? Even dogs needed a break every now and then. The white pup first approached what he recognized best. A human girl with pigtails, who squeaked with glee. Then, he inspected the other child, yet another girl, but she was a charr. He seemed to show just as much interest to her, his tail wagging like a fan.

“Aww! He’s so cute and tiny!” the charr girl squealed, petting Dogmatix on the head with her hand. The pup leaned forward into the paw, enjoying the attention thoroughly.

“No silly, that’s a girl! Boy dogs are much bigger!” the human girl giggled.

“What!? Where did you get _that_ from?” the charr asked suspiciously.

Asterix watched from a distance, smiling warmheartedly. There was so much innocence in these children. Despite their differences, they did not mind their racial history. They were simply friends. He sat down in the sand, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the fresh sea air, while he watched the scene play out.

“He’s a boy!” the charr argued, though laughingly.

The human girl giggled back. “Noo! She’s a girl. She even has a girly bark!”

Dogmatix yipped in excitement, oblivious of what was really going on. He only cared about the attention he was receiving. Finally, an elderly asuran lady walked into the beach, approaching the arguing children.

“There you are, you little rascals of mine,” she said in a sweet motherly tone. She eyed the little white pup. “And who is this then?”

“Brokka, Brokka, look!” The human girl picked up Dogmatix. “She came right to us! Can we keep her? Please?”

“Him,” the other girl corrected again, giggling.

Brokka looked at the little dog in the human girl’s arms, tongue flopping out and tail wagging in excitement. She then looked back at Asterix, who smiled and waved back casually. “Oh, he’s very cute, indeed.” She smiled. “But I think he belongs to that man over there. We already have a dog, anyway.”

“Aww?” both girls resounded in a synchronized chime.

“Now now, girls.” The asura lifted a wagging finger. “Be nice and put the little dog down. Come along now, I’ve made lunch.”

And with that, the two lit up and let the little animal down. As they left, Dogmatix trotted over the sand to return to Asterix, while he watched the family make their leave. He was actually quite amazed by the fact an asura fostered, maybe even adopted, two children of an entirely different race each. But at the same time, he found it very admirable. And they could get along so well, too. Like a real family did.

He could even picture himself living here, in Lion’s Arch, if things weren’t going to go back to the way it used to. He didn’t like thinking about it, but at this point, it was a good idea to look for places to settle. He began to fumble his mustache thoughtfully.

“Margrit is right. Asura aren’t all bad. We just came across the wrong people…” He then looked down at Dogmatix. “Didn’t we, buddy?”

The pup sat down and looked back at Asterix, tilting his head a little and letting out a confused whine.

“Too bad she couldn’t come. I bet she would have wanted to see the new city.” Asterix smiled lightly, lifting a hand to pet the dog on his head. “Oh well. We’ll just visit another time when she can walk on her own again.”

He then looked up. Clouds, white as snow, dotted a deep blue sky. A large sun hung high, providing him a warmth that he’d been missing for a while. It was still hard for him to comprehend that his own home was out there somewhere. Where or how far away, he didn’t even want to know. He was in fact afraid to find out.

He eventually took a deep breath.

“Alright, enough dawdling around. Let’s go.” He stood up, patting the sand from his breeches. They began the walk down the same road, back to the gate hub. As they entered the hub once more, he took out his coin pouch and began digging into it, fishing out the money he had been provided with for gate entry. Thankfully, after the city pulled itself back together, more strict gate travel laws were implemented. Not only were the prices frozen, they were fair even for those who visited for only a short time. Fifty silver per adult, plus some minor costs for the amount of luggage they carried – pets and children under supervision could use the gate network for free. Considering he only carried his weapons for safety’s sake, Asterix wasn’t required to pay much more than that. The changes actually left him with much more money than Margrit initially thought he would be needing for the trip.

Asterix glanced about, looking for which gate were to lead to Rata Sum. The gates all looked the same, and reading road signs was out of the question still. Fortunately, each gate had guards standing before them, and those gate guards were always the race of where their gate led to. It was a tradition that helped people orient a bit easier. Not every Tyrian could read, after all. His eyes finally settled on the gate guarded by two asura in heavy plate armor. One of their well-known creations, the autonomous, headless golem, stood beside them, dwarfing them both with its length and girth.

“Good day sir,” one of the guards spoke when his big eyes settled on the human and his dog, approaching the gate. “Before we can allow you to use this gate’s services, we need to inspect your wares and weaponry, please. It’s imperative for keeping our city safe.”

Asterix stopped before the two guards and groaned slightly under his breath. “Fair enough.” He drew his weapons one by one from their containers, handing them over without protest. First, his bow and quiver. The revolver and its ammunition was next. When he finally reached for his sword, he started hesitating. The guards eyed him suspiciously. A low, threatening mechanical buzz came from the golem as its single crystalline eye settled on the Gaul.

“Is there a problem, sir?” one of the guards questioned.

Asterix looked back at the golem. “No, not a problem,” he answered. “Just be careful with this one,” he added as an afterthought. He then wrapped his hand around the sword’s grip, and he felt the scabbard heat up. Slowly and gently, he pulled the burning blade out. The guards each eyed the sword.

“Interesting,” one of the two asura mused. He then turned to the other. “We should scan this one.”

Asterix furrowed his brow. Asura and their lovely terms… _”Scan_ it?” he asked.

“Don’t worry sir, it’ll only take a minute. Then you can have your weapons back.”

Sighing, the warrior put the blade back and untied his scabbard to hand it to them. He couldn’t think of any other ways to hand it to anyone safely. The guard took the scabbard from him, and walked to the golem. The robot lowered its hands for the asura to place it in its palms.

“SCN-TR6, command prompt fifty-one. Scan this weapon for magical energy deposits.”

“Initiating—command—fifty—one. Scanning,” the golem hummed in a monotone mechanical voice. Its eye directed down at the blade, and it beeped and squeaked for a moment. “Warning. Unknown—magical—residue—detected. Category:—suspicious. Caution—advised.”

“What?” Asterix gawked in surprise. “What does that mean?”

“Unknown magic?” the guard hummed as he lifted a finger to scratch the back of his ear. “Strange, we haven’t had a case like this before.”

The other asuran guard looked at the Gaul. “He doesn’t look much like a wizard to me. Maybe it’s a cheap knock-off enchantment.”

“I’m sorry sir, we have to confiscate your sword for the time being. It’s not safe to bring it to Rata Sum. Don’t worry, you can reclaim it after you’re done with your business in the city.”

“It better be that way.” Asterix groaned. He was quite attached to that sword. “Can I at least have my other weapons back?”

“Naturally,” the asura replied. And they gave him back his weapons. The sword was put aside, and Asterix was given a ticket for reclamation. And finally, he could pay his entry and move on. This was it, they were about to enter asuran territory once more.

Asterix looked down at Dogmatix, whom he held in his hand. “You ready?” he asked quietly.

Dogmatix yipped.

The Gaul sighed. “Here we go, then.” He walked forward, unsure what to expect of Rata Sum.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

_* Postman. Appears in several Asterix volumes._

_* Egyptian architect. Appears in Asterix and Cleopatra._


	15. Meeting the Asura

One step forward, and a tingling spark later, they were in Rata Sum. Despite having seen asuran architecture before, their capitol astonished Asterix.

The city was a symmetric wonder; a fantastic structure plucked straight out of the strangest of fever dreams. The precision in the buildings showed off how much the asura liked consistency in their architecture. The first he saw was a large, flawless stone cube that appeared to serve only as a fountain, as it hovered above the upper plaza. There were also three pyramid shaped structures decorated with jungle flora and banners, and those buildings seemingly blended into the floor itself, while some of their cube-shaped bricks were unhinged from the roofs, floating loose from the building by the same sorcery that held the larger fountain-cube in the middle in the air. Everything looked as though they could fit together like a puzzle. The pavement was of hexagonal stone tiles. Laid so perfectly, so flat and even, it felt like walking on Caesar’s marble floor. Vines crawled between the tiles undisturbed, but weeds were nowhere to be found. Asterix felt a bit uneased walking on the pavement. Despite how stable it seemed, it didn’t feel that way for some reason, as if the entire city was floating in the air.

Judging from how the floor simply cut off at certain points, and how there was hardly natural land or water to be seen beyond that, it wouldn’t surprise him if that was really the case. He dared not coming close to those edges, fearing to learn how far below the land would be. His skin crawled at the thought, and he decided to keep Dogmatix in the palm of his hand for the time being, just as a precaution.

The air was humid and warm, and the smell was a mixture of rain, foliage and sea water, telling them they were near the jungle once more, as well as the shore. The wet pavement and dark clouds in the distance suggested it rained quite recently.

It was certainly very busy, unlike what he was accustomed to seeing in Hoelbrak, which in comparison was actually rather calm. Naturally, there were a lot of asura. Asura at the fountain. Asura conversing about their latest projects with their technobabble. Asura making trade. And one could not forget the golems. Golems that ranged from asura to norn sizes, all programmed to do their masters’ biddings. Be it transporting heavy wares, patrolling around the city to keep an eye out, or doing any other finicky work an automaton could perform for hours on end without a need for rest. There was also hardly a living soul of any other race to be seen, other than Asterix himself and his dog, and maybe the rare sighting of a charr, sylvari, or what ever else roamed Tyria.

Reminding himself of his task, Asterix dug into his pocket with his free hand and pulled out the letter from Pluxx, shaking it a little until it unfolded itself. The back of the paper contained Margrit’s sketches of the city’s exterior map; literally a drawing of the large diamond shaped city, with the location of Pluxx’s workshop and the portal to Lion’s Arch marked with red ink to make sure he couldn’t get lost. And yet… He inspected the map carefully, glancing back to the city every now and then to try and get a better feel of his surroundings.

“Gods, I can’t even follow a simple route,” he muttered. “Why does everything have to look the same here?” He turned the paper, expecting some sort of hint, but he was only met with writing he could not decipher.

Sighing, he put the letter back in his pocket, looking around nervously. Maybe he could ask for directions. Just as the idea came up, an asura walked by.

“Excuse me, ma’am, can you tell me where—”

But the woman ignored him, walking straight past without so much as turning her head. Asterix glanced about. There were plenty of people here. Walking to and fro, going about their business. At least one of them could point him into the right direction, hopefully. He tried again, this time, with another asura who was with a child. They were sitting and talking at the fountain. He approached the two and cleared his throat. “Hello, can either one of you tell me—”

“No, no. That’s not right,” the adult said to the little girl asura. “Quaggans are _amphibious_ creatures. They lay eggs and are capable of living out of water, though they prefer not to.”

“I want to swim with quaggans and study their culture when I’m older. They are so interesting and cute and pudgy,” said the little girl. She swung her feet back and forth as she tilted her head playfully.

The father frowned. “Honey, are you sure you don’t want to do something else with your life later? A genius in the making can make a much greater impact on society than studying quaggans.”

Asterix started to get a little impatient now. “Excuse me, hello? I’m lost, can you show me where to go for Pluxx’s workshop?”

Suddenly, the older asura’s head turned to Asterix, and he snapped at him. “Bookah! Can’t you see I’m preoccupied with my daughter’s future? Whatever your query is, bring it to someone who has time to waste!”

The Gaul held back a scowl. Here come the snarky comments again. It was exactly what he _didn’t_ like about these people. “Oh, alright,” he responded dully.

The little girl looked at Asterix intently with large emerald-green eyes. As he was about to turn and leave, she lifted a tiny finger and pointed south. “Pluxx’s shop is near the port, at Dawnside Quay!” she squeaked. “Just take the portal leading there. His shop is the middle one in the street below.” Her father shot her a stern scowl, disapproving of her talking to strangers, but she didn’t see it. Instead, she saw Asterix smiling to her.

“Ah! Thank you, little girl.” He nodded politely. He then made his way into the direction she pointed him. He soon found another set of gates at the other end of the city. Embarrassingly, he took a bad guess and picked the wrong one first, getting chased out again by several golems for entering a restricted area.

The Dawnside port itself wasn’t extravagantly large, but considering that the asura gates were a popular way of traveling in Tyria, it wasn’t really necessary for it to be big. It seemed that the docks had more use for fishing than trade. It was also a popular spot for traveling merchants to set up a market and sell a great variety of goods, but only for one set day in the week, after which they would move on to the next of the main cities. Today happened to be that day they set up here.

Asterix didn’t care for it much though. He was just glad he could see land and sea again. He took a glance back, beholding the great hexahedron block which he presumed to be Rata Sum, far in the distance, its top peeking over the cliffs near the port. Just looking at it and imagining he stood on top of that thing seconds ago made him quiver. He was also still hesitant about letting Dogmatix down, despite being back on solid ground now. Even the piers were a little _too_ crowded for a little dog to be walking around here. Accidents might happen.

As he walked one of the stairs down to the dock, he heard the advertised yelling he remembered from Lutetia, and, to an extend, from home. The market was indeed very busy, and local fishmongers too made their chance at selling some of their fresh fish for a quick handful of money, shouting at the top of their lungs in an attempt to drown out the yelling of rivals. Below the stairs, there was a tunnel that led into a dimly lit street. From what little Asterix knew of their kind, it seemed as though the asura liked being underground and surrounded by darkness.

And as it was described by the little girl, there they were. A small row of little shops on one side of the street-tunnel. Most looked tidy and clean on the outside, except for the one in the middle, which stood out quite a bit from the rest with its floating sign plate and colorful decoration.

Asterix approached the shop and then let Dogmatix down on the ground, telling him to wait at the door. Then, he entered the shop. A little bell rang as he stepped inside, and he glanced around curiously. The place was an utter mess, unlike what he expected of asura. Wherever there was room, there were ink pots and barrels of bright, colorful powder, standing everywhere. There was only one free path from the entrance to the counter. There was also a strong, intrusive smell in the air. No Pluxx, though. Not in immediate sight.

At this point, he was glad he let Dogmatix wait outside. The poor animal wouldn’t be able to stand these fumes. He looked around, eyes scanning the shop for life. “Hello?” he called. “Anyone here?”

“Watch your head,” a rather distant voice announced suddenly. Surprised, Asterix looked up at the ceiling. But he wasn’t sure what to watch for. Then, the realization dawned on him. Whoever warned him probably thought he was taller. The ceiling did hang rather low. Still high enough for a norn to enter, if he wanted a very sore neck and back later.

“Oh. It’s all good, thanks,” said Asterix. He slowly approached the counter and looked over, finding an asura knelt down on the floor behind it, assorting some of his items in a small wooden box.

“Are you Pluxx?”

“Yes, yes. That’s me. Welcome,” Pluxx answered nonchalantly. He pushed the box aside and stood up, scanning the Gaul up and down when he saw him, appearing a bit surprised by his height. Pluxx was bald, with remarkably big, lopped ears hanging from his wide head. They were in fact so large, it seemed impossible for them to lift themselves on their own, and instead they draped over his shoulders like wet towels. Several earrings decorated each. His skin was a deep, saturated brown, with little white spots dotted all over, as well as splotches of differently colored paints. His lavender and beige clothes were also stained. He abruptly cleared his throat. “How may I be of service?” asked Pluxx. He set his hands on the counter.

Asterix quickly dug into his pocket, taking out the letter once more and showing it to the asura. “Margrit Strolfdottir received your letter and asked if I could pick up the package she ordered.”

Pluxx looked down at the letter, then eyed Asterix suspiciously. “Are you her acquaintance?”

“Yeah… You might say that,” Asterix answered. “She had an accident. And I owe her. So I’m running errands for her until she gets better.”

The asura pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Hrm,” he mused. “As long as the package gets paid, I suppose. You look trustworthy enough.”

Suddenly, the bell rang another time. Pluxx looked past Asterix, toward the doorway, and his yellowed shark-like teeth flashed under a wide smile. Asterix looked back as well, and he saw a pale, blonde asura walk inside. His light-blue and grey robes looked oddly out of place. “Good afternoon, Pluxx,” the stranger called.

“Ah, Bikk! What a pleasant surprise!” Pluxx flung his arms open and welcomed the asura cheerfully. “Taking a break from rummaging in the Priory archives, eh?”

“Yeah, I’ve been between the dusty old books and artifacts for too long again,” Bikk answered, grinning. “So much knowledge, such little time.” Bikk suddenly grimaced as though he had a chill. “Very cold, too.”

“I know what you’re here for,” Pluxx finally added. He then looked back at Asterix, giving him a honest smile. “I’ll have your order here in a moment. Go ahead and have a look around the shop while you wait. It’s going to take a little while for my golem to fetch everything.”

Asterix blinked, then eventually he wandered off from the counter, saying nothing. He decided to check some of the taller bottles of ink standing on a table. They came in all sorts of vibrant colors. Starting at the front were various yellows, reds, and blues. Then, the row behind them were the hues that were mixed using those three colors. And this kept on going, until there was no room left on the table.

Meanwhile, the two asura had their own conversation. “So, have you been to the Snaff Prize?” Pluxx asked to Bikk.

Bikk sported a wide grin. “Naturally. I wouldn’t even miss it for gold.”

“How was it this time? It better be juicy,” said Pluxx, lifting a hand and pulling one of his ears back so it wouldn’t get in the way. “Last year’s contest was about as thrilling as studying skritt communicational behaviors…”

“Oh, this year’s competition was stiff,” the blonde asura beamed. “A lot of good inventions were exhibited to the Arcane Council. Gabb’s Atmospheric Subspace-Repressor took the first place by the skin of his teeth. I was the most excited for Klipp’s invention though. Claimed he made the greatest medical breakthrough of all time and was going to present his proof of it. But then the sore flunkee backed out! Weeks before the contest!”

Asterix’s ears caught the conversation. Wait a minute… Klipp? Where did he remember that name from? It gave him a foreboding chill for some odd reason. Keeping quiet, he pretended to be minding his own business, leaning slightly forward and gripping the table, looking at the various colorful ink bottles on the shelves above while listening in on what the two were talking about.

Pluxx stared Bikk in the eyes, sneering suspiciously. _”Klipp?_ You mean from the Inquest? Since when did you take interest in his blamable contrivances?” he questioned. “Those Inquest people are never up to any good. They’re selfish hacks who only care for their own gain.”

“What? No! Don’t accuse me like that. I only wanted to know more about his medical breakthrough,” Bikk answered nervously.

Asterix couldn’t believe what he heard. He felt his stomach twist into a knot, and the earlier chill turned into dread. He _knew_ he remembered that name. Klipp, the monster who turned him into a lab rat…that … _that…_ He subconsciously firmed his grip on the table, and gritted his teeth anxiously. He could feel his heart pounding. He even swore he could hear it beating across the room. But when it got louder, it became more distinguishable, and he recognized the sound as thumping golem feet.

“What was this ‘medical breakthrough’ anyway?” Pluxx asked while he took Margrit’s order from the golem’s hands.

“Don’t know. He only shared some details with the Arcane Council. And any information he did share was debunked by them after he withdrew from the contest.”

Asterix let out a sigh in relief, relaxing his grip on the table. Thank Toutatis that they didn’t believe it. Otherwise that would have just caused him trouble if anyone found out about it. Especially if _…they_ …found out.

Pluxx’s dangling ears twitched at the noise as he set the package down on the counter, and his eyes shifted to the warrior. “Everything alright there?”

“Oh, I… it’s the ink,” He stammered, “The ink has a very strong smell. It’s making me a little nauseous.”

The asura stared at him with a dismissive look. “Yes, indeed… I don’t recommend sniffing it. Come on over. Your order is ready.”

Asterix in turn let go of the table, approaching the counter again. Bikk stepped aside, at least as much as he could. The Gaul looked down at the small wrapped parcel on the counter. “That’s the entire package?”

“Yes,” Pluxx replied. “I always sell my goods in their powder form. Makes the package smaller and lighter in weight. All you need to do is add boiling water to the mix.”

Asterix blinked, then looked around the shop. “Then why do you keep all these bottles of liquid ink in the store?”

“Why, those are for looks.”Pluxx smiled cheekily. “Anyway, that’ll be two gold and twenty silver, please.

Asterix arched an eyebrow. “I see,” he said. The shop could have done with a few bottles less, but then again, it wasn’t _his_ store. Whichever floated Pluxx’s boat. He paid the fee and waved the shop owner goodbye, with one paper-wrapped parcel in hand.

Dogmatix stood up and yipped when Asterix finally reemerged from the shop’s doorway. He smiled and bent down to give the pup a pat on the head. “We’re done here. Let’s go home,” he said. He was glad to be out of the store again. The stench of the ink was only bearable for so long. It made him doubt a little if the stuff was really as safe as Pluxx promised. Margrit’s customers didn’t complain though. Asterix shrugged in his mind. He was probably just overthinking it.

Just as he was about to turn for the way out of the tunnel, something stopped him. A foreboding, irked feeling that…was he being watched? He turned his head, looking around to see what was going on. All he saw were just asura and golems walking down the lane. He could only pick up noisy chatter. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

He blinked. Slowly, his blank expression was replaced with a squint. _Idiot. Stop being so paranoid_ , he huffed to himself. Dogmatix eyed the human questioningly. A single bark reminded Asterix that someone was waiting for him to come home. He picked Dogmatix up, and made for a quick pace back to the gate. It was best not to linger in this place any longer.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

As the day grew older, the Lion’s Arch gate hub became busier than usual as people made their way through the gates. The crowds were actually rather overwhelming. Even the guards had trouble with all the traffic as everybody pushed and urged impatiently after a long day well-spent. They all yearned for home. Asterix immediately regretted taking his time to pick up Margrit’s parcel.

He had some trouble squeezing his way through the crowd. Naturally, all he wanted was to get back to Hoelbrak quickly. The chaos alone, the chatter, shouting, pushing and pulling… It was mad-driving. The tail of a charr accidently swatted him in the face and made him stagger back and drop his package. Asterix groaned, bending down to pick the parcel up again, when his ears suddenly caught a cry for help.

“Someone, please! I lost my friend!” a ragged, deep voice cried. Asterix glanced at where the noise came from. It was hard to tell. Every sound overlapped with another. Finally, he caught glimpse of the panicked sylvari, who was standing at the palm garden, waving his hands about and trying to get people’s attention, but failing to do so at his dismay. He slowly walked closer with caution.

“Anyone, please?” the man called frantically. “She’s green, has marine blue hair, shaped like a flower. She answers to the name Liliwen. Please! Someone!”

“Liliwen?”

Surprised, the sylvan male suddenly turned his head, looking down at Asterix. His eyes were an eerie white, and he had a dark brown-green skin that was of bark, and small, wild leaves for hair colored like autumn. To Asterix’s surprise, but not completely out of the ordinary, the man wore normal human clothing rather than growing his own, sporting a long dark green coat and brown trousers. “Yes. Yes! Have you seen her?” he asked desperately.

“No,” Asterix answered, looking worried himself. “But she’s my friend as well. She’s not in trouble, is she?”

“I fear she is going to be if I don’t find her soon,” the frantic man answered.

“What happened?”

“It’s a long story, but she’s running off to the jungle. I have to find her and stop her before she gets to the Silverwastes and— Oh,” He suddenly stammered inaudibly, his knees trembled, and he started plucking the leaves from his head. “Oh, _stars_ … What do I say?”

“Whoa, okay. Settle down,” Asterix reassured. “Just explain to me what exactly is going on. I want to help.”

“No, I can’t. You’ll…you’ll turn against me,” said the sylvari. He suddenly fell down to a sit, hands still in his hair. Asterix came a few steps closer, trying to reassure the man.

“Take a deep breath and just tell me. I won’t turn against you.”

Thankfully, the sylvari complied, sucking in air through his nostrils and taking a short moment for himself. “ _Mordremoth…”_ he exhaled. “Something…something happened. The Pact—”

The first word alone made the suspicious faces of those with strong hearing cast their direction to the two. In turn, the brown sylvari looked back at them, seemingly frightened by their judgmental glares.

“Listen,” the man suddenly spoke, his voice lowering to a half-whisper. His hands gripped hold of Asterix by both his shoulders. “I can’t talk about this here. If you really wish to help, then…” He swallowed. “Then we must talk about it in private.”

The strong root-like fingers were cold and dry, and they felt like they pierced his skin. Asterix hesitated. Should he trust a stranger so willingly? Liliwen was his friend, and if her brash nature got her in trouble, then, yes. He will trust the man. “Tell me your name first,” he eventually said.

“Bohan,” the sylvari replied. “Of the Wardens.” He stood up.

“Asterix,” he answered back. “Come with me to Hoelbrak, and you can tell me everything.”


	16. Back to the Jungle

“I thank you for your hospitality, friends.” Bohan raised the cup of hot tea to his lips to take a sip. Cold mountain air wasn’t a friend to a creature like him, thus, he was allowed to warm near the fireplace.

“Don’t make yourself too much at home,” Margrit warned. “My friend may have invited you here, but you’re still a stranger in _my_ house.” She cast a low glare at Asterix and made sure that he was aware of it. Asterix, in turn, simply let it happen. He wasn’t in the position to argue with her — he did allow a stranger into her stead. But he was thankful she didn’t immediately tell the man to get out. It gave him a chance to explain the situation. He quickly grabbed a cloth and used it to take the steaming coffee pot from its hook at the fireplace, and poured her a cup.

“Margrit, please. This is important to me,” he pleaded. “I need to know what happened to Liliwen. She helped me a great deal in coming to you. If she’s in trouble, then I have to help her.” He then also poured himself a cup, setting it down at the table to let it cool, as well as the kettle. He then sat down.

“Did you have to bring him here, though?” Margrit groaned. Eventually, she sighed. “I’ll give him a chance. But if he causes trouble, I can—and I will—order Bobbo to show him the door…” This time, she cast the same glare she gave Asterix toward the sylvari, drawing back a thumb and suggesting it toward her bear whom laid snoozing on his mat.

Bohan looked back at Margrit, trying to put on a modest smile, despite his unease. “I assure you, miss, there won’t be need for that.”

“We’ll see about that,” Margrit said dully. She bent forward and picked up her cup of coffee. She pursed her lips, blowing the steam away gently before taking a sip. “Now, tell us what happened,” she added afterwards.

“Well,” Bohan sighed, “As you both may already know, the Pact sent its fleet into the Maguuma’s deepest parts to ambush the jungle dragon while it was still waking.” The sylvari stared down at his tea. “But, the news is, that they failed. Mordremoth took down the entire fleet, and survivors are struggling to fight the dragon’s armies… Liliwen has a friend who belongs to the Pact. A member of the Vigil. He was there during the assault. We were in Kryta when we were told of the news, and she wanted to go and rescue him. I…agreed to come with her. I was to get supplies and catch up with her as soon as I could, until I heard of what else happened there.”

Asterix felt a chill of worry creeping onto him like a cold wind. After that previous run-in with one of Jormag’s monsters, the mention of yet another dragon was all but welcome to him. The feeling was mutual with Margrit. But still, they both listened.

“Go on,” Margrit urged when the sylvari silenced. In turn, Bohan nodded.

“There have been reports that members of the Pact have turned against the alliance during the attack.” Bohan suddenly turned his face away in shame. “They…were all sylvari.” He grimaced, the yellow-green foxfire of his leaves and skin fading away as he felt his blood draw away from his face. “I know she was going through Lion’s Arch before heading to the jungle, so I was hoping to catch her there—”

“Wait,” Margrit interrupted, “What are you talking about? What do you mean sylvari turned against the Pact?”

“I really don’t know,” Bohan answered. His voice trembled a little. “I only know that they were still with the Pact just before the assault. And when it began, they suddenly started attacking their comrades. I don’t know why, but I can’t imagine they did this all by choice. I really can’t…”

“And whatever happened out there, you want to go after your sylvari friend to prevent the same thing happening to her, am I right?” Margrit questioned with a dark, ominous look on her face.

The sylvari raised his head, sharing a glance with both Margrit and Asterix. One face gazed at him, cold and condemningly, and he couldn’t blame that glare. The grim news spread like wildfire, more and more people became wary of him and all his kin. The other face was sympathetic, somewhat afraid, yet seemed willing to help. Finally, Bohan sighed, and answered. “Yes… If I hurry, I might be able to catch her before she gets too deep into the jungle.”

“I’ll come along,” Asterix shot up from his seat.

“Out of the question!” Margrit suddenly snapped at the Gaul. “You weren’t going to get yourself in trouble anymore.”

Surprised, the Gaul looked back at the norn pleadingly. “Didn’t you just hear him? We can catch her before she even gets to the jungle—”

Margrit adamantly ignored Asterix. “I need you to leave, Bohan.”

“Of course,” Bohan answered sadly, and he set the teacup down on the coffee table. He stood up from the chair without strife.

“Wait,” Asterix cut in, holding up a hand. “Don’t leave yet.” The sylvari stared back at him with a conflicted look in his eyes. Asterix turned to look at Margrit, who glared back at him. He returned the same gaze, for only a short moment.

“Bohan,” he asked back to the sylvari. “Do you mind? Margrit and I need to talk alone.”

“Of course not,” Bohan replied. The man looked around “But where should I wait?”

But before he could answer, Margrit cut in. “Outside,” she replied sternly. Asterix subtly shook his head. He wanted to object, but he knew not to push Margrit’s limits. Finally, he also replied after her.

“Just grab a coat. It won’t take long…”

The sylvari nodded obediently. And as he stepped out the front door with a warm fur wrapped around, Asterix looked back at an angered norn. Her silver eyes peered at him, and it looked like she was willing to scold and penalize him. Slowly he collected his courage, readying himself for a battle of words.

“Margrit, I know how you feel about this. And I know I promised not to get in danger.” Slowly, he approached the woman. “But Liliwen is my friend. I won’t forgive myself if I don’t do anything to help her.”

Margrit sighed, staring at the human. She read the concern in his eyes and posture. “You understand I only want what’s best for you.”

“I do.” He slowly came to a halt, standing still before her.

“You don’t belong to this world. You might be aware of the dangers now, but you haven’t experienced them in full. Out there, you’ll be a sheep between wolves.”

Asterix looked at the norness questioningly, then he turned his head to the window. Twilight approached, painting the sky beyond the trees with a palette of orange and violet. He could see Bohan walking around in circles, with a warm coat wrapped around his silhouette. He felt bad, that the sylvari had to wait outdoors, but at least he was patient, and he knew how to best keep warm. Perhaps he visited the mountains before.

A sudden annoyed groan escaped from Margrit, catching his attention again.

“You also know very well I can’t stop you from going through with it anyway. You’re too stubborn, is what you are. I know that much by now.” She abruptly laughed a little. Asterix couldn’t help but smile along with her.

“It’s a gift _and_ a curse,” he jokingly added.

Then, her smile melted, her eyebrows furrowed with worry, and she looked down at him. “So… Do you really want to go then?” she asked. “Do you want to save your friend?”

Asterix blinked. The woman’s gaze, that could almost read minds, peered into his brown eyes. “Yes,” he answered with honesty. “No question about it.”

Then there was a moment of silence. She still looked at him, thinking carefully. “Bring Bobbo with you, then,” she said. “He’s a strong, loyal fighter. He’ll listen to you.”

Asterix smiled. To be entrusted with the norness’ animal companion was not something to take lightly. Her obligation made sure he was aware that this wouldn’t be an easy task, and that he was going to need someone strong to watch his back in the wilderness. Speaking of which…

“Will you keep Dogmatix with you?” he asked. “It won’t be safe for him out there.”

Then, out of the blue, Margrit drew her arms out, folding them around him and gently pulling him close. There was a flush of warmth that streaked his face. The realization only dawned on him moments later – she was _hugging_ him. She never did that before. He blinked again, dumbfounded by this sudden reaction.

“Of course.” She murmured. “Just come back in one piece, okay?”

“O—okay.” He carefully released himself from her hold. “Will you be alright on your own?”

Margrit began to smile warmheartedly. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not the first time I’ve broken something, you know.”

He frowned at the woman.”Wait, what?”

Margrit laughed humbly. “What? Did you really think you’ll live in these mountains without breaking some bones in your life? Horin broke his collarbone in a keg brawl last year.”

Right. The famous keg brawl… a favored pastime among the norn. It was much alike the ‘fish brawls’ he knew from home, except there was more keg-throwing involved, and no expired fish. Asterix stared at her. He tried to put on a smile, but instead made an awkward half-smile, half-cringe. “You almost make it sound like a competition…” he said. “See who breaks the most bones in their lives, right?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Margrit answered cheekily. She raised her hand and patted him on the head playfully. Asterix answered with an annoyed groan, as he tried to set his helm back in place. They then glanced out the window again, seeing that Bohan still walked in circles outside, battling the cold.

“Well, let’s let him in and tell him the good news, before he turns into a popsicle.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

Asterix didn’t think he would ever tell himself this, but thank the gods for asura gateways.

It was early in the morning when he and Bohan left, accompanied by Margrit’s bear. There was little time to waste. Supplies were packed, words of advice exchanged, and goodbyes were made. The gates made travel almost effortless, were it not for the Grove, though among the nearest, still being at quite a distance away from their destination.

After the word got out, the sylvan city had turned awfully quiet, and was void of tourism. Asterix received several wary glances from the few sylvari who woke early, curious to know why a human would dare wander here, moments after they had been declared traitors.

“It must be horrible,” he muttered. “To be labeled enemies like this. Just because a few of them turned against us… How is this even fair?”

“To be perfectly honest, it was more than just a few.” Bohan replied quietly. “Too many to be considered a coincidence.”

“Do you know if any of them didn’t betray the Pact?”

“I have no idea…” Bohan answered, sighing hopelessly.

Asterix glowered, trying hard to brush the dark thoughts away. He glanced up. The boughs sprouting from a titanic white trunk loomed over them. The Pale Tree – he remembered. Her leaves were still as great as he recalled. His eyes traced the roots eagerly, but his mind grew more worried by the second.

“Gods… What’s wrong with the tree?”

Bohan stopped and turned to look back at his companion, noting the short human was eyeing the Pale Tree’s roots. White bark was covered in grey rashes, and the thinnest limbs curled back in diseased wither. The sight alone was enough to make Bohan emotional. But he did well at holding his feelings back.

“She was attacked, recently…” he muttered. “The assault left her exhausted.”

Wide-eyed, Asterix jerked away in surprise, looking to Bohan’s direction. “ _What?_ Who would do that?”

“One of Mordremoth’s foul abominations.” the autumn sylvari answered darkly. He turned around again, walking at a quicker pace. “Don’t worry about her. Our mother is strong. She will pull through.”

“Right...” The Gaul gave one last glance, eyes narrowing as he peered at the blemishes, then he looked at Bobbo beside him, who stood at least two heads taller than him on all fours. The big brown eyed the man questioningly with little ashen-black eyes, a big nose wiggling in an act of intent. Eventually, Asterix lightly scratched the animal near his ear. “At least you don’t howl when you see trees like this,” he spoke quietly.

He expected himself to make a reassuring comment, to somehow comfort and motivate the bear, but he found that he had nothing. It took moments to realize it wasn’t Bobbo who felt his hope drop so quickly. The realization of what happened to the Grove’s sacred tree – the mother of all sylvari – was a crippling thought.

Bohan stopped walking, noticing it was silent behind him. Turning to look, he found that he was walking off alone. “Is something wrong, Asterix?”

Shaken out of his thoughts, he stared into the direction he heard his name being called from.

_Whoops—_ ”Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” He caught up with the sylvari. He cleared his throat before asking “I just have one question…”

“Yes?”

“Is there any chance we have to be crossing Inquest territory?”

Bohan’s white eyes didn’t take a moment to glance down at the Gaul, pacing at a quick walking speed. “Yes. Why do you ask? Do they worry you?”

“I’d prefer to avoid them, is all.”

“Wait,” Bohan said, yet not stopping in his tracks. But this time, he did cast his eyes down to the Gaul. “You don’t happen to be that Ascalonian warrior Liliwen told me about?”

“Hm?” Oh, right. He forgot about that. Asterix picked up speed to keep up with the sylvari. Margrit’s bear followed closely behind. “Yeah… about that, I’m not really from Ascalon.”

“But you’re a descendant from an Ascalonian family, right?” Bohan commented.

“No. It’s…It’s a complicated story.”

“I see,” Bohan answered simply. It relieved Asterix that the man didn’t ask any more questions. He’d still have to explain himself later when they find Liliwen, but at least that was delayed, for now.

The outer city borders surely came into sight. And beyond that, Caledon Forest. As they set off into the woods, Bohan was kind enough to explain the route they were taking. They would be walking along the path Asterix was familiar with from the last time he crossed the Maguuma, until they were past the swamp. Beyond that point, they would head further to the north-west; into the wildlands. There, at the gates of Fort Vandal, they’ll catch the runaway sylvari in her tracks.

There were still smaller Inquest encampments that they may have to pass, but Bohan promised he would make sure to avoid them, if possible.

“Remember, we’re going to come very close to Mordremoth’s territory,” Bohan finally added after he finished explaining the route to Asterix. “When we do, be extra careful. I heard that thorned vines burst out of the ground and snag people by their ankles. Best not stand in one place too long.”

“Isn’t that nice…” Asterix muttered sarcastically. “Anything else I should know about?”

“The dragon’s minions aren’t very fond of fire.” Bohan eyed the Gaul’s scabbard, with the sword neatly fitted within. “Keep your blade handy. It might scare off the lesser minions, and get you out of a pinch.”

Fair enough. From what Asterix was told, Mordremoth was the Elder Dragon that could command the trees themselves. The Silverwastes was a desert beyond the fort that formed the border to the monster’s territory. Dry plants make great bonfires.

“What about bigger minions?” he questioned.

“Let’s hope we don’t run into those.”

Well, that was certainly encouraging.

“Indeed.” Asterix muttered. “So, she told you about my sword too, huh?” he jokingly accused, only in an attempt to change subject.

Bohan cast the Gaul a grin. “She liked talking about you.”

His helm-wings twitched like ears as he perked up. “Why? I’m not _that_ fascinating.”

The sylvari chuckled. “Well, she’s still young. You know how the young ones are. They find everything fascinating.”

Asterix grinned, shook his head and shrugged. Well, there was truth in that. Asterix had met his share of saplings; sylvari no older than a year. They would ask him the oddest questions. ‘ _Does it hurt when you cut your hair?’_ must have been among the strangest. Sometimes the questions even were a little _too_ personal for comfort, so he had to deny them the answers.

“What about you, then?” asked Asterix. “What’s your age, If you don’t mind me asking?”

“I’ve seen seven summers pass, so far.” Bohan turned. “What’s your age?”

A fully grown, adult creature, at only the age of a child. It was difficult for Asterix to wrap his mind around. Sylvari had no childhood whatsoever – even lacking the concept of it. He suddenly felt incredibly old. Like Geriatrix, complete with a balding scalp and walking-cane of oak. “Thirty-five,” Asterix finally spoke under his breath. The number he uttered sounded far less intimidating than the number he currently imagined feeling.

The sylvan’s white eyes widened in surprise. “Oh! Oh my,” he laughed. “You’re much older than our kind, then!”

“Thanks.” He tried not to let his discontent be known. But he couldn’t remain feeling insulted for long. It wasn’t the sylvari’s fault after all. The casual chatter went on for a while, mixed with spews of laughter, but also moments of gloominess, talking about past events and problems they were facing even today. Though tempted, Asterix refrained from talking about his own qualms too openly, afraid to give away his origins.

Soon, the last sylvan settlement to be seen in a while, Mabon’s market, was also behind them. By that time, they both knew to hush down. Wild animals and other nasty things lurked in the jungle, and then, there was the swamp that they had to pass in order to reach the wildlands. Wychmire Swamp. Asterix remembered the place well, but not fondly so. It smelled, it was wet, it was exactly what one’d expect of a swamp. But this foul bog had one extra animosity that added to his dislike for it: the dreaded Nightmare Court.

This time, though, he was ready to join in the fight, would the situation call for it.

They both halted before the swamp, gazing restlessly into the deep quagmire. Its smell was a fine reminder of how terrible it really was. A single twisted path of cobblestone curled through the area, disappearing and reappearing under the water at several places, until the morning fog obscured it from being seen any further. “I’m not fond of this place,” Bohan said quietly.

“Tell me about it,” Asterix dully replied. With a whisper, he ordered Bobbo to stand ground when the animal wandered up to them.

The sylvari drew his hatchet, as well as a sharp knife, from their containers. Asterix followed suit by drawing his sword and revolver – he felt that he was not ready yet for the bow and arrow. Not yet.

“Follow me,” was Bohan’s next motion.

The Gaul nodded, and he instructed the bear behind him to follow as he did follow the sylvari. The sword’s flames made the wet road and murky water reflect and glimmer like golden as they passed through. There was a distinguished, powerful stench of rot in the air. Something must have died here recently. It made it difficult to breathe.

Asterix wished in silence that they wouldn’t run into more of these swamplands. But then, a rustling noise caught his attention. The Gaul halted, and turned his head to look back. Narrowing his eyes, he peered into the fog behind them. Bohan too turned around.

“Did you hear something?” was his first reaction.

“I thought I did.”

“Let’s keep moving.”

And though he agreed, the warrior found himself gazing into the fog a little longer, scanning the swamp for movement. He knew something was out there. Behind the trees, maybe? The swamp plants? The noise came back; a short rustling, then, an abrupt yet silent splash.

Something moved along the water, this time he was sure of it. Ripples stroked the gold-glittering, liquid surface, and it approached them. And yet, no living thing to be seen. There – another ripple, several feet away from the first. And yet another to the left. Now Bobbo was seeing it too, curling his lips back and baring a snarl. The ripples quietly, and slowly, closed in.

“Bohan, I think we’re being followed,” whispered a nervous Asterix.

The sylvari’s clutched his grip tighter around the haft of his hatchet. He was indeed aware now. The head of a fish poked out from the water. Its slick snout was filled with many sharp little teeth, and its skin was black as night. Tiny pale blue eyes glimmered reflectively in the flames of Asterix’s sword, as the creature stared at the three wanderers intently, and they looked back at it.

This was no fish, though. It was what was known as a skelk. Amphibious, sly creatures, both hunters and scavengers, ranging from the size of a hunting hound to a full grown bull. Their slender tails swirled like a snake’s body, and they had sharp claws on long thin lizard-like limbs. They were masters of camouflage, and among the top most annoying animals known on Tyria’s surface, in Margrit’s opinion. Alone, they did not pose a major threat. It was the groups one had to worry for. Asterix read about these creatures as well as several other species that lived in Tyria. Well, actually, Margrit had to read it to him. He was trying to learn to read the New Krytan dialect, but it wasn’t easy. That was beside the point anyway.

The lone skelk’s head still bopped above the water’s surface, letting go a raspy squeak. Bohan huffed back at it in annoyance, picking a stone from the ground, drawing his arm far back, and throwing it toward the animal. Quick as lightning, the skelk submerged itself once more and fled as soon as the rock hit the water near it.

“Let’s move on before we get seen by something worse,” he added to his action.

But then, they were stopped in their tracks, as more of the skelk began to stalk forward from the water. First came their heads, then followed slender jet-black bodies. They watched five of the creatures surround them, no – six. The skelk hissed eerily as they came closer, appearing particularly interested in the object Asterix held in his right hand.

“Pale Mother— Your sword, they’re attracted by the fire! Stow it, quickly!”

Without a second of doubt in his mind, Asterix slid the sword back in its scabbard. Indeed, as soon as the flames dimmed, the skelk appeared to lose interest in it. No more of the creatures would be attracted to the light now. However, they still faced the problem of the skelk that already caught the scent of their prey. And now he was also without his sword. With just the revolver left in his other hand, Asterix knocked the hammer back on it, preparing to make good use of it.

They were outnumbered, six against three. “Stay close together,” Bohan ordered. He squeezed the axe in his hand a little tighter, getting ready to embed it into one of their heads, at least, that’s what Asterix would have presumed. He himself watched three of the skelk looming before him as they hissed. Among them was one larger than the rest. A pack leader, perhaps? Bobbo bared his fangs back at the animals, rumbling a throaty growl.

The large skelk cocked its head to the side, assessing the group of strangers. It too began to growl, and its followers did the same. Seconds later, the inevitable ensued. They all lunged at them, claws and teeth at the ready. Bobbo stood high on his feet, ramming a mighty paw into several skelk at once. Bohan did his own share of fighting as well, keeping back two skelk himself. Which left Asterix with the patriarch. As the monster bounded towards him, he pressed the trigger of his revolver, aimed at the patriarch, and the gun bellowed a pang followed with a belch of smoke. The bullet struck the skelk in the gut, making it wince mid-air and topple on top of the Gaul.

Asterix yelped out of frustration, trying desperately to shove the animal off. The beast was heavier than it looked, and still alive too. Now especially aggravated, the animal flung its jaws wide with full intent to decapitate him.

_The gun! Where is my gun?!_

He clasped his hands against the jaws of the skelk, pouring all the strength he had into keeping it from advancing. He wouldn’t be able to hold for long. The warrior felt the teeth sink into his fingers. A clawed hand pressed down on his chest, making it more difficult to put up a struggle, but oddly enough, in all this chaos, he found himself wondering why it didn’t just gut him on the spot.

“Get off him!” Bohan shouted, digging his knife into the animal’s hide. The skelk leader shrieked painfully, staggering away from Asterix. He immediately searched for his revolver, finding it laying on the road quite closely beside him. He grabbed it, readied it, aimed and shot.

A fatal blow. The skelk collapsed backwards, weeping and flailing on the ground until it did no more. Thick blood that crept from the open wounds slowed as the animal’s pulse weakened into nothingness, and ending its struggle with a weak twitch of its limbs. At that moment, a chance revealed itself. Bohan’s pale eyes peered down at the fresh corpse, beholding an opportunity to turn the tide in this battle. Focusing on the skelk carcass, he quickly sheathed his knife, and then drew his now free hand toward the corpse, both of them becoming enveloped in a dark magic.

_“Rise, and serve me.”_

The Gaul’s eyes turned wide in surprise and horror. As if pulled from the grave, the skelk rose shakily back to its feet as Bohan’s lifeforce flowed through its body, and soon regained its full strength. A sickly pale, olive-green hue replaced its jet black color, eyes dull and milky. Its jaw hung loose from the gunshot that killed it, but that didn’t faze it from obeying its new master without question. Joining Bobbo, it immediately flung itself at its former pack members, claws tearing and teeth shredding in order to cause as much damage – as much distraction – as possible. Horrid shrieking added further havoc to the violent onslaught. Bohan grasped a paled human by the arm, proposing to make a run for it while the sylvari’s reanimated minion could still fight.

Asterix nodded, calling Bobbo back to him. And they all ran, the howling and screeching echoing behind them the whole way. They ran until the Wychmire Swamp was far behind them, and waited there until the noise stopped.


	17. Thorns

“I thank you for your hospitality, friends.” Bohan raised the cup of hot tea to his lips to take a sip. Cold mountain air wasn’t a friend to a creature like him, thus, he was allowed to warm near the fireplace.

“Don’t make yourself too much at home,” Margrit warned. “My friend may have invited you here, but you’re still a stranger in _my_ house.” She cast a low glare at Asterix and made sure that he was aware of it. Asterix, in turn, simply let it happen. He wasn’t in the position to argue with her — he did allow a stranger into her stead. But he was thankful she didn’t immediately tell the man to get out. It gave him a chance to explain the situation. He quickly grabbed a cloth and used it to take the steaming coffee pot from its hook at the fireplace, and poured her a cup.

“Margrit, please. This is important to me,” he pleaded. “I need to know what happened to Liliwen. She helped me a great deal in coming to you. If she’s in trouble, then I have to help her.” He then also poured himself a cup, setting it down at the table to let it cool, as well as the kettle. He then sat down.

“Did you have to bring him here, though?” Margrit groaned. Eventually, she sighed. “I’ll give him a chance. But if he causes trouble, I can—and I will—order Bobbo to show him the door…” This time, she cast the same glare she gave Asterix toward the sylvari, drawing back a thumb and suggesting it toward her bear whom laid snoozing on his mat.

Bohan looked back at Margrit, trying to put on a modest smile, despite his unease. “I assure you, miss, there won’t be need for that.”

“We’ll see about that,” Margrit said dully. She bent forward and picked up her cup of coffee. She pursed her lips, blowing the steam away gently before taking a sip. “Now, tell us what happened,” she added afterwards.

“Well,” Bohan sighed, “As you both may already know, the Pact sent its fleet into the Maguuma’s deepest parts to ambush the jungle dragon while it was still waking.” The sylvari stared down at his tea. “But, the news is, that they failed. Mordremoth took down the entire fleet, and survivors are struggling to fight the dragon’s armies… Liliwen has a friend who belongs to the Pact. A member of the Vigil. He was there during the assault. We were in Kryta when we were told of the news, and she wanted to go and rescue him. I…agreed to come with her. I was to get supplies and catch up with her as soon as I could, until I heard of what else happened there.”

Asterix felt a chill of worry creeping onto him like a cold wind. After that previous run-in with one of Jormag’s monsters, the mention of yet another dragon was all but welcome to him. The feeling was mutual with Margrit. But still, they both listened.

“Go on,” Margrit urged when the sylvari silenced. In turn, Bohan nodded.

“There have been reports that members of the Pact have turned against the alliance during the attack.” Bohan suddenly turned his face away in shame. “They…were all sylvari.” He grimaced, the yellow-green foxfire of his leaves and skin fading away as he felt his blood draw away from his face. “I know she was going through Lion’s Arch before heading to the jungle, so I was hoping to catch her there—”

“Wait,” Margrit interrupted, “What are you talking about? What do you mean sylvari turned against the Pact?”

“I really don’t know,” Bohan answered. His voice trembled a little. “I only know that they were still with the Pact just before the assault. And when it began, they suddenly started attacking their comrades. I don’t know why, but I can’t imagine they did this all by choice. I really can’t…”

“And whatever happened out there, you want to go after your sylvari friend to prevent the same thing happening to her, am I right?” Margrit questioned with a dark, ominous look on her face.

The sylvari raised his head, sharing a glance with both Margrit and Asterix. One face gazed at him, cold and condemningly, and he couldn’t blame that glare. The grim news spread like wildfire, more and more people became wary of him and all his kin. The other face was sympathetic, somewhat afraid, yet seemed willing to help. Finally, Bohan sighed, and answered. “Yes… If I hurry, I might be able to catch her before she gets too deep into the jungle.”

“I’ll come along,” Asterix shot up from his seat.

“Out of the question!” Margrit suddenly snapped at the Gaul. “You weren’t going to get yourself in trouble anymore.”

Surprised, the Gaul looked back at the norn pleadingly. “Didn’t you just hear him? We can catch her before she even gets to the jungle—”

Margrit adamantly ignored Asterix. “I need you to leave, Bohan.”

“Of course,” Bohan answered sadly, and he set the teacup down on the coffee table. He stood up from the chair without strife.

“Wait,” Asterix cut in, holding up a hand. “Don’t leave yet.” The sylvari stared back at him with a conflicted look in his eyes. Asterix turned to look at Margrit, who glared back at him. He returned the same gaze, for only a short moment.

“Bohan,” he asked back to the sylvari. “Do you mind? Margrit and I need to talk alone.”

“Of course not,” Bohan replied. The man looked around “But where should I wait?”

But before he could answer, Margrit cut in. “Outside,” she replied sternly. Asterix subtly shook his head. He wanted to object, but he knew not to push Margrit’s limits. Finally, he also replied after her.

“Just grab a coat. It won’t take long…”

The sylvari nodded obediently. And as he stepped out the front door with a warm fur wrapped around, Asterix looked back at an angered norn. Her silver eyes peered at him, and it looked like she was willing to scold and penalize him. Slowly he collected his courage, readying himself for a battle of words.

“Margrit, I know how you feel about this. And I know I promised not to get in danger.” Slowly, he approached the woman. “But Liliwen is my friend. I won’t forgive myself if I don’t do anything to help her.”

Margrit sighed, staring at the human. She read the concern in his eyes and posture. “You understand I only want what’s best for you.”

“I do.” He slowly came to a halt, standing still before her.

“You don’t belong to this world. You might be aware of the dangers now, but you haven’t experienced them in full. Out there, you’ll be a sheep between wolves.”

Asterix looked at the norness questioningly, then he turned his head to the window. Twilight approached, painting the sky beyond the trees with a palette of orange and violet. He could see Bohan walking around in circles, with a warm coat wrapped around his silhouette. He felt bad, that the sylvari had to wait outdoors, but at least he was patient, and he knew how to best keep warm. Perhaps he visited the mountains before.

A sudden annoyed groan escaped from Margrit, catching his attention again.

“You also know very well I can’t stop you from going through with it anyway. You’re too stubborn, is what you are. I know that much by now.” She abruptly laughed a little. Asterix couldn’t help but smile along with her.

“It’s a gift _and_ a curse,” he jokingly added.

Then, her smile melted, her eyebrows furrowed with worry, and she looked down at him. “So… Do you really want to go then?” she asked. “Do you want to save your friend?”

Asterix blinked. The woman’s gaze, that could almost read minds, peered into his brown eyes. “Yes,” he answered with honesty. “No question about it.”

Then there was a moment of silence. She still looked at him, thinking carefully. “Bring Bobbo with you, then,” she said. “He’s a strong, loyal fighter. He’ll listen to you.”

Asterix smiled. To be entrusted with the norness’ animal companion was not something to take lightly. Her obligation made sure he was aware that this wouldn’t be an easy task, and that he was going to need someone strong to watch his back in the wilderness. Speaking of which…

“Will you keep Dogmatix with you?” he asked. “It won’t be safe for him out there.”

Then, out of the blue, Margrit drew her arms out, folding them around him and gently pulling him close. There was a flush of warmth that streaked his face. The realization only dawned on him moments later – she was _hugging_ him. She never did that before. He blinked again, dumbfounded by this sudden reaction.

“Of course.” She murmured. “Just come back in one piece, okay?”

“O—okay.” He carefully released himself from her hold. “Will you be alright on your own?”

Margrit began to smile warmheartedly. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not the first time I’ve broken something, you know.”

He frowned at the woman.”Wait, what?”

Margrit laughed humbly. “What? Did you really think you’ll live in these mountains without breaking some bones in your life? Horin broke his collarbone in a keg brawl last year.”

Right. The famous keg brawl… a favored pastime among the norn. It was much alike the ‘fish brawls’ he knew from home, except there was more keg-throwing involved, and no expired fish. Asterix stared at her. He tried to put on a smile, but instead made an awkward half-smile, half-cringe. “You almost make it sound like a competition…” he said. “See who breaks the most bones in their lives, right?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Margrit answered cheekily. She raised her hand and patted him on the head playfully. Asterix answered with an annoyed groan, as he tried to set his helm back in place. They then glanced out the window again, seeing that Bohan still walked in circles outside, battling the cold.

“Well, let’s let him in and tell him the good news, before he turns into a popsicle.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

Asterix didn’t think he would ever tell himself this, but thank the gods for asura gateways.

It was early in the morning when he and Bohan left, accompanied by Margrit’s bear. There was little time to waste. Supplies were packed, words of advice exchanged, and goodbyes were made. The gates made travel almost effortless, were it not for the Grove, though among the nearest, still being at quite a distance away from their destination.

After the word got out, the sylvan city had turned awfully quiet, and was void of tourism. Asterix received several wary glances from the few sylvari who woke early, curious to know why a human would dare wander here, moments after they had been declared traitors.

“It must be horrible,” he muttered. “To be labeled enemies like this. Just because a few of them turned against us… How is this even fair?”

“To be perfectly honest, it was more than just a few.” Bohan replied quietly. “Too many to be considered a coincidence.”

“Do you know if any of them didn’t betray the Pact?”

“I have no idea…” Bohan answered, sighing hopelessly.

Asterix glowered, trying hard to brush the dark thoughts away. He glanced up. The boughs sprouting from a titanic white trunk loomed over them. The Pale Tree – he remembered. Her leaves were still as great as he recalled. His eyes traced the roots eagerly, but his mind grew more worried by the second.

“Gods… What’s wrong with the tree?”

Bohan stopped and turned to look back at his companion, noting the short human was eyeing the Pale Tree’s roots. White bark was covered in grey rashes, and the thinnest limbs curled back in diseased wither. The sight alone was enough to make Bohan emotional. But he did well at holding his feelings back.

“She was attacked, recently…” he muttered. “The assault left her exhausted.”

Wide-eyed, Asterix jerked away in surprise, looking to Bohan’s direction. “ _What?_ Who would do that?”

“One of Mordremoth’s foul abominations.” the autumn sylvari answered darkly. He turned around again, walking at a quicker pace. “Don’t worry about her. Our mother is strong. She will pull through.”

“Right...” The Gaul gave one last glance, eyes narrowing as he peered at the blemishes, then he looked at Bobbo beside him, who stood at least two heads taller than him on all fours. The big brown eyed the man questioningly with little ashen-black eyes, a big nose wiggling in an act of intent. Eventually, Asterix lightly scratched the animal near his ear. “At least you don’t howl when you see trees like this,” he spoke quietly.

He expected himself to make a reassuring comment, to somehow comfort and motivate the bear, but he found that he had nothing. It took moments to realize it wasn’t Bobbo who felt his hope drop so quickly. The realization of what happened to the Grove’s sacred tree – the mother of all sylvari – was a crippling thought.

Bohan stopped walking, noticing it was silent behind him. Turning to look, he found that he was walking off alone. “Is something wrong, Asterix?”

Shaken out of his thoughts, he stared into the direction he heard his name being called from.

_Whoops—_ ”Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” He caught up with the sylvari. He cleared his throat before asking “I just have one question…”

“Yes?”

“Is there any chance we have to be crossing Inquest territory?”

Bohan’s white eyes didn’t take a moment to glance down at the Gaul, pacing at a quick walking speed. “Yes. Why do you ask? Do they worry you?”

“I’d prefer to avoid them, is all.”

“Wait,” Bohan said, yet not stopping in his tracks. But this time, he did cast his eyes down to the Gaul. “You don’t happen to be that Ascalonian warrior Liliwen told me about?”

“Hm?” Oh, right. He forgot about that. Asterix picked up speed to keep up with the sylvari. Margrit’s bear followed closely behind. “Yeah… about that, I’m not really from Ascalon.”

“But you’re a descendant from an Ascalonian family, right?” Bohan commented.

“No. It’s…It’s a complicated story.”

“I see,” Bohan answered simply. It relieved Asterix that the man didn’t ask any more questions. He’d still have to explain himself later when they find Liliwen, but at least that was delayed, for now.

The outer city borders surely came into sight. And beyond that, Caledon Forest. As they set off into the woods, Bohan was kind enough to explain the route they were taking. They would be walking along the path Asterix was familiar with from the last time he crossed the Maguuma, until they were past the swamp. Beyond that point, they would head further to the north-west; into the wildlands. There, at the gates of Fort Vandal, they’ll catch the runaway sylvari in her tracks.

There were still smaller Inquest encampments that they may have to pass, but Bohan promised he would make sure to avoid them, if possible.

“Remember, we’re going to come very close to Mordremoth’s territory,” Bohan finally added after he finished explaining the route to Asterix. “When we do, be extra careful. I heard that thorned vines burst out of the ground and snag people by their ankles. Best not stand in one place too long.”

“Isn’t that nice…” Asterix muttered sarcastically. “Anything else I should know about?”

“The dragon’s minions aren’t very fond of fire.” Bohan eyed the Gaul’s scabbard, with the sword neatly fitted within. “Keep your blade handy. It might scare off the lesser minions, and get you out of a pinch.”

Fair enough. From what Asterix was told, Mordremoth was the Elder Dragon that could command the trees themselves. The Silverwastes was a desert beyond the fort that formed the border to the monster’s territory. Dry plants make great bonfires.

“What about bigger minions?” he questioned.

“Let’s hope we don’t run into those.”

Well, that was certainly encouraging.

“Indeed.” Asterix muttered. “So, she told you about my sword too, huh?” he jokingly accused, only in an attempt to change subject.

Bohan cast the Gaul a grin. “She liked talking about you.”

His helm-wings twitched like ears as he perked up. “Why? I’m not _that_ fascinating.”

The sylvari chuckled. “Well, she’s still young. You know how the young ones are. They find everything fascinating.”

Asterix grinned, shook his head and shrugged. Well, there was truth in that. Asterix had met his share of saplings; sylvari no older than a year. They would ask him the oddest questions. ‘ _Does it hurt when you cut your hair?’_ must have been among the strangest. Sometimes the questions even were a little _too_ personal for comfort, so he had to deny them the answers.

“What about you, then?” asked Asterix. “What’s your age, If you don’t mind me asking?”

“I’ve seen seven summers pass, so far.” Bohan turned. “What’s your age?”

A fully grown, adult creature, at only the age of a child. It was difficult for Asterix to wrap his mind around. Sylvari had no childhood whatsoever – even lacking the concept of it. He suddenly felt incredibly old. Like Geriatrix, complete with a balding scalp and walking-cane of oak. “Thirty-five,” Asterix finally spoke under his breath. The number he uttered sounded far less intimidating than the number he currently imagined feeling.

The sylvan’s white eyes widened in surprise. “Oh! Oh my,” he laughed. “You’re much older than our kind, then!”

“Thanks.” He tried not to let his discontent be known. But he couldn’t remain feeling insulted for long. It wasn’t the sylvari’s fault after all. The casual chatter went on for a while, mixed with spews of laughter, but also moments of gloominess, talking about past events and problems they were facing even today. Though tempted, Asterix refrained from talking about his own qualms too openly, afraid to give away his origins.

Soon, the last sylvan settlement to be seen in a while, Mabon’s market, was also behind them. By that time, they both knew to hush down. Wild animals and other nasty things lurked in the jungle, and then, there was the swamp that they had to pass in order to reach the wildlands. Wychmire Swamp. Asterix remembered the place well, but not fondly so. It smelled, it was wet, it was exactly what one’d expect of a swamp. But this foul bog had one extra animosity that added to his dislike for it: the dreaded Nightmare Court.

This time, though, he was ready to join in the fight, would the situation call for it.

They both halted before the swamp, gazing restlessly into the deep quagmire. Its smell was a fine reminder of how terrible it really was. A single twisted path of cobblestone curled through the area, disappearing and reappearing under the water at several places, until the morning fog obscured it from being seen any further. “I’m not fond of this place,” Bohan said quietly.

“Tell me about it,” Asterix dully replied. With a whisper, he ordered Bobbo to stand ground when the animal wandered up to them.

The sylvari drew his hatchet, as well as a sharp knife, from their containers. Asterix followed suit by drawing his sword and revolver – he felt that he was not ready yet for the bow and arrow. Not yet.

“Follow me,” was Bohan’s next motion.

The Gaul nodded, and he instructed the bear behind him to follow as he did follow the sylvari. The sword’s flames made the wet road and murky water reflect and glimmer like golden as they passed through. There was a distinguished, powerful stench of rot in the air. Something must have died here recently. It made it difficult to breathe.

Asterix wished in silence that they wouldn’t run into more of these swamplands. But then, a rustling noise caught his attention. The Gaul halted, and turned his head to look back. Narrowing his eyes, he peered into the fog behind them. Bohan too turned around.

“Did you hear something?” was his first reaction.

“I thought I did.”

“Let’s keep moving.”

And though he agreed, the warrior found himself gazing into the fog a little longer, scanning the swamp for movement. He knew something was out there. Behind the trees, maybe? The swamp plants? The noise came back; a short rustling, then, an abrupt yet silent splash.

Something moved along the water, this time he was sure of it. Ripples stroked the gold-glittering, liquid surface, and it approached them. And yet, no living thing to be seen. There – another ripple, several feet away from the first. And yet another to the left. Now Bobbo was seeing it too, curling his lips back and baring a snarl. The ripples quietly, and slowly, closed in.

“Bohan, I think we’re being followed,” whispered a nervous Asterix.

The sylvari’s clutched his grip tighter around the haft of his hatchet. He was indeed aware now. The head of a fish poked out from the water. Its slick snout was filled with many sharp little teeth, and its skin was black as night. Tiny pale blue eyes glimmered reflectively in the flames of Asterix’s sword, as the creature stared at the three wanderers intently, and they looked back at it.

This was no fish, though. It was what was known as a skelk. Amphibious, sly creatures, both hunters and scavengers, ranging from the size of a hunting hound to a full grown bull. Their slender tails swirled like a snake’s body, and they had sharp claws on long thin lizard-like limbs. They were masters of camouflage, and among the top most annoying animals known on Tyria’s surface, in Margrit’s opinion. Alone, they did not pose a major threat. It was the groups one had to worry for. Asterix read about these creatures as well as several other species that lived in Tyria. Well, actually, Margrit had to read it to him. He was trying to learn to read the New Krytan dialect, but it wasn’t easy. That was beside the point anyway.

The lone skelk’s head still bopped above the water’s surface, letting go a raspy squeak. Bohan huffed back at it in annoyance, picking a stone from the ground, drawing his arm far back, and throwing it toward the animal. Quick as lightning, the skelk submerged itself once more and fled as soon as the rock hit the water near it.

“Let’s move on before we get seen by something worse,” he added to his action.

But then, they were stopped in their tracks, as more of the skelk began to stalk forward from the water. First came their heads, then followed slender jet-black bodies. They watched five of the creatures surround them, no – six. The skelk hissed eerily as they came closer, appearing particularly interested in the object Asterix held in his right hand.

“Pale Mother— Your sword, they’re attracted by the fire! Stow it, quickly!”

Without a second of doubt in his mind, Asterix slid the sword back in its scabbard. Indeed, as soon as the flames dimmed, the skelk appeared to lose interest in it. No more of the creatures would be attracted to the light now. However, they still faced the problem of the skelk that already caught the scent of their prey. And now he was also without his sword. With just the revolver left in his other hand, Asterix knocked the hammer back on it, preparing to make good use of it.

They were outnumbered, six against three. “Stay close together,” Bohan ordered. He squeezed the axe in his hand a little tighter, getting ready to embed it into one of their heads, at least, that’s what Asterix would have presumed. He himself watched three of the skelk looming before him as they hissed. Among them was one larger than the rest. A pack leader, perhaps? Bobbo bared his fangs back at the animals, rumbling a throaty growl.

The large skelk cocked its head to the side, assessing the group of strangers. It too began to growl, and its followers did the same. Seconds later, the inevitable ensued. They all lunged at them, claws and teeth at the ready. Bobbo stood high on his feet, ramming a mighty paw into several skelk at once. Bohan did his own share of fighting as well, keeping back two skelk himself. Which left Asterix with the patriarch. As the monster bounded towards him, he pressed the trigger of his revolver, aimed at the patriarch, and the gun bellowed a pang followed with a belch of smoke. The bullet struck the skelk in the gut, making it wince mid-air and topple on top of the Gaul.

Asterix yelped out of frustration, trying desperately to shove the animal off. The beast was heavier than it looked, and still alive too. Now especially aggravated, the animal flung its jaws wide with full intent to decapitate him.

_The gun! Where is my gun?!_

He clasped his hands against the jaws of the skelk, pouring all the strength he had into keeping it from advancing. He wouldn’t be able to hold for long. The warrior felt the teeth sink into his fingers. A clawed hand pressed down on his chest, making it more difficult to put up a struggle, but oddly enough, in all this chaos, he found himself wondering why it didn’t just gut him on the spot.

“Get off him!” Bohan shouted, digging his knife into the animal’s hide. The skelk leader shrieked painfully, staggering away from Asterix. He immediately searched for his revolver, finding it laying on the road quite closely beside him. He grabbed it, readied it, aimed and shot.

A fatal blow. The skelk collapsed backwards, weeping and flailing on the ground until it did no more. Thick blood that crept from the open wounds slowed as the animal’s pulse weakened into nothingness, and ending its struggle with a weak twitch of its limbs. At that moment, a chance revealed itself. Bohan’s pale eyes peered down at the fresh corpse, beholding an opportunity to turn the tide in this battle. Focusing on the skelk carcass, he quickly sheathed his knife, and then drew his now free hand toward the corpse, both of them becoming enveloped in a dark magic.

_“Rise, and serve me.”_

The Gaul’s eyes turned wide in surprise and horror. As if pulled from the grave, the skelk rose shakily back to its feet as Bohan’s lifeforce flowed through its body, and soon regained its full strength. A sickly pale, olive-green hue replaced its jet black color, eyes dull and milky. Its jaw hung loose from the gunshot that killed it, but that didn’t faze it from obeying its new master without question. Joining Bobbo, it immediately flung itself at its former pack members, claws tearing and teeth shredding in order to cause as much damage – as much distraction – as possible. Horrid shrieking added further havoc to the violent onslaught. Bohan grasped a paled human by the arm, proposing to make a run for it while the sylvari’s reanimated minion could still fight.

Asterix nodded, calling Bobbo back to him. And they all ran, the howling and screeching echoing behind them the whole way. They ran until the Wychmire Swamp was far behind them, and waited there until the noise stopped.


	18. Below the Silverwastes

They arrived in the sandy canyon that held within it an abandoned base of operations. The group took in the view – on ground level, there were only two passages that led to the wastes. To the north and south, armed with fortifications. But instead of wood or stone, they were of sharp metal and buzzing conduits, ready to zap enemies that came too close. Lightning turrets stood abandoned and unused behind the barriers, turned to a low frequency so they wouldn’t attract the enemy with their noise. The silence made the place less appealing to invading monsters. Inside the camp, tents and training areas were of abundance. At one side of the canyon was the armory, sheltered by the red-orange carvings of nature. On the other, There was a commander’s station and an open kitchen. Several casting lines were bolted to the cliff edges above. The ropes swung quietly along the warm wind. There, not very long before, flying airships would have floated idly in the sky, awaiting takeoff.

They had taken off. The camp was void of life. Mostly.

Only a single group of skritt skittered along to scavenge for metal and other goods that they deemed precious. They paid little mind to the new arrivals – three humans, a sylvari, and a bear – focusing instead on what the camp’s previous residents had left behind.

The small party of survivors, once they approached closer to the camp’s center and settled under the shade of the cliff to catch their breaths, were greeted skeptically by the larger group of a dozen scavengers. A small, twitchy glance here. Faint, squeaking chatter there. The skritt seemed a bit suspicious of the new arrivals, and kept a safe distance. At least they didn’t assume the worst. Both Asterix and Bohan glanced around in confusion. Other than the obvious, why was the place empty?

“Wait, everybody left?” asked Bohan. “The entire Pact is gone?”

“Yes, the whole fleet. Left here only a couple of days ago for the assault on the dragon. We were expecting them to be back by yesterday after their first bombardment, but they never came.” The female of the two remainders of the Seraph company took her helm off to get her messed up hair away from her face. “Then came back survivors. Usually in pairs of one to three. They told us they had been defeated in one fell swoop. We had them sent to nearby field hospitals.”

The other seraph didn’t bother to comment. He held his head in his hands, mumbling quietly to himself. Perhaps he was telling himself that this was all just a bad nightmare, or tried to reassure himself knowing he was alive. The woman didn’t seem affected as much, but Asterix knew, people dealt with these situations in each their own way. They had lost comrades in that fight.

“As the Queen’s main military group, the Seraph remained behind to keep watch over the main entrance to the camp. Her orders were to keep Fort Vandal in check, even after the news got out. We were supposed to wait for reinforcements… Well, so much for that.” the lady sighed sadly.

Asterix fumbled his mustache thoughtfully. So this is where the Pact was stationed before things got out of hand. That meant they were very close to the danger zone now. Nobody seemed comfortable with the idea. The Gaul had heard stories of what the land of Orr was like while the resident Elder Dragon, Zhaitan, was in power. Margrit told it to him so vividly. It was almost as if she had seen it all happen herself. It was simply well-documented.

Orr was said to be a lush and holy land of the humans. It was blessed by their gods who lived there among them. But clearly those blessings were not meant to last after those gods had left.

When the charr were still at war with humanity, Orr became a target of their conquest. One royal Orrian vizier was apparently not fond of the idea, and decided he would rather watch his homeland die than let it be conquered. From the scrolls he had kept, he unleashed a great curse that sank the entire peninsula and drowned all life on it.

But it wasn’t the end for Orr – something had been sleeping underneath it. Zhaitan, the dragon of undeath, woke from its long slumber.

As the beast made its rise to the surface, the land rode its back, and was once again pushed back up along with the dragon, unleashing catastrophic tsunamis that destroyed many coastal cities. The monster took immediate control of all the dead that surfaced along with Orr. Any who were killed by its minions, or died in its field of influence, would rise again to serve the dragon. They had no will of their own; only Zhaitan’s. Survivors who fought in the war and walked the risen land itself, told of rotting fauna, ancient, corroded ruins, and dead things watching them from every corner.

Back then, the thought of slaying such a creature was no more than a wild, hopeful dream. But the Pact made it possible. It was all combined effort; every race of being and the three orders, who made it their priority to find a solution to the Elder Dragon threat, fought together. Never before had the world been this united. Mordremoth was to be their next victory.

However, Mordremoth brought all that work low in the span of a single day. What was it that this dragon had that Zhaitan did not?

Asterix shook his head, after catching himself getting lost in thought again. He noticed that the others were contemplating their next step. Bohan still wanted to look for his friend. The two Seraph, obviously, didn’t think this was a good idea, and opted to stay here and wait. Sighing, Asterix leaned his back against a nearby rock, and watched the skritt do their thing while he thought of a solution himself. The skritt didn’t seem particularly dangerous. Some of the rat-like creatures looked back at him and the others, chittering high-pitched squeaks and whispers to one another as if gossiping.

Asterix look a short moment to check himself over again. Nothing wrong, thank the gods. His hands were healed. Only the skin on his arm where he had been burned had begun to prickle in the warm wind. He decided against using their valuable water reserves to cool it. It was nothing severe anyway. Though, he was sure that things were no longer going to happen as they had planned. There was no way back; the Mordrem would take them if they tried. And Liliwen was still on the run. All they could do was press forward or stay here. Neither option seemed very appealing, though he would have chosen to go back if it were possible, he favored pressing forward over staying at the camp. Chances are, the vines may spread further. So it was either meekly hoping for rescue at the risk of getting caught or wasting away here, or go to the jungle where they may have a better chance to survive, and a chance to find back Liliwen.

Though he would have liked to, he didn’t think he was in the position of taking leadership. “What now?” he asked, hoping to hear some input of the others.

“I think we should wait it out here,” one of the soldiers said. Bohan started to groan apprehensively.

“I’m not really for the idea of wilting in this heat or getting caught by those mordrem behind us. I have a friend to find and I’m not leaving without her. We might as well spend the time finding her while we wait for this passage to get cleared up.”

Seemed that Bohan had the same idea. The Gaul stood up and approached the others. “I think I agree with my friend here. At least we might be able to find shade, food and water in the jungle,” Asterix added after Bohan finished speaking.

“You’re both insane! That place is crawling with Mordrem,” the woman stressed.

“And more possible survivors. If people came through here, then that must mean they managed to reorganize in some way,” said Asterix. “I don’t know about you, but I think we’ve got better chances out there.”

“Listen, if your friend has come through here all alone, then she’s dead now. We are staying here. You do whatever you want.” The seraph soldier turned away, starting to look over her comrade, checking for injury. Asterix and Bohan stared quietly. Though, the outcome wasn’t unexpected.

The sylvari sighed. “That could have gone better.”

“Let’s just leave them,” said the Gaul. “They already have enough on their minds.” He raised his hand and pulled back a thumb. “Let’s see if we can prepare for crossing the desert. It’s not too big. We can probably get through before nightfall. We’ll leave some supplies for the others as well.” Bohan nodded, suggesting they could look around the base for goods like the skritt did. At least, as long as the skritt didn’t mind. With that, Bohan began to approach the rat-creatures slowly with Asterix and Bobbo closely nearby, hoping not to startle them.

At first, the critters eyed the three suspiciously, until one of them, white furred and in nothing more than a loincloth, a belt strapped along his torso, and a stained cooking pan in hand, approached them. Skittish blood-red eyes gazed at them.

“Did you need something?” it asked. Its deeper than usual voice suggested it was of masculine nature. It was honestly hard to tell, with skritt. They all looked the same.

“Hello, my name is Bohan. We don’t mean any harm,” the sylvari began.

“Likewise, They call me Tch’akkit.” The skritt said back.

“We need to cross the desert. But to do that, we need extra supplies.”

The skritt’s whiskers twitched. “I’m afraid we can’t provide much from our own stores. Our families have enough trouble scrambling together whatever we can to survive out here. Those thorned monsters have become increasingly aggressive since recent, you see. You’re welcome to scavenge through this abandoned camp. We are working on moving out of the desert, and just found the place empty, ourselves.”

Asterix found himself doing a slight double-take when he heard the skritt speak. Of all the races he met, he always remembered skritt not to be the sharpest knife in the bunch. But this one spoke so properly, at an easier pace to follow, had a larger vocabulary and looked far less excitable than the ones he’d met before. He blinked, casting a quick glance to Bohan. He wasn’t even surprised. Was this somehow normal?

“Right,” Bohan answered calmly. “We’ll take a look around. Thank you.”

At least they were friendly. That was a plus.

“I’ll search the training fields and the commanders’ office,” Bohan said. Asterix nodded.

“Alright. I’ll check the rest.”

And so they split up, leaving Bobbo to lay flopped on his belly in the shade of the rocks, not wanting to bother wasting energy in this heat.

Asterix began with the nearest tent, and inspected each of them carefully, both inside and outside. The pact really _did_ expect to eventually return, as less important belongings had been left there in either a neat fashion, or a rushed mess, waiting patiently for their owners to return. Only the most important was missing – ration stores were empty, and most oil and water tanks were drained. There were no weapons or their respective ammunition if they had required any. A shame, Asterix thought to himself. He could have used a few extra bullets and arrows, figuring he was going to use his weapons a lot out there.

Tch’akkit helped out, too. Being a skritt, he was an expert at finding useful things. He followed Asterix around until the very last tent, and inspected whatever Asterix didn’t pick up, salvaging various things mostly for himself, including a huge helm that looked so deformed, it could only have been meant for a charr to wear. The tall, sky-blue crest that lined over the top gave Asterix the impression that it was some sort of Centurion’s helmet, but he waved that thought aside.

“This will make a good cooking pot, don’t you think? It’s a bit wide, but that just means we can fit more food in!” Tch’akkit chirped, while he showed the helm to the Gaul, who was rummaging through another crate. “And the frill?” He fumbled his whiskers thoughtfully. “Ooh. We can make a scrubber out of that! We’ve got to keep our ship clean. Scrub it good.”

Overhearing the skritt’s inward chatter, Asterix stopped searching and turned his head, perking an eyebrow at Tch’akkit. Now he started sounding more like a normal skritt again, strangely... “You have a ship?” he asked.

“Oh, yes! Old _SS Topsy-Turvy._ It’s stationed in the underground where we live. We’re fixing it, so we can sail out of here and find a new, better home.”

“Oh, it’s a flying ship?”

Tch’akkit shook his head dismissively, rat ears flapping along. “Oh, no, no. Not one of those,” he said. “It’s a _water_ ship. Floats on water.”

“But how are you going to sail? This is a desert. Is there any water here at all?”

“Well, no. Not enough yet anyway. But we’re filling the canyon below with water! If our calculations are correct, we’re in need of, uhh… about 75-bajillion bucket-fulls more.”

Unsure if the skritt was just messing with him at this point, Asterix acknowledged him with a faked smile and resumed his search. There was nothing useful in the last crate, either; just more sand than goods, and those goods were worn, leather-bound books, filled with more sand. It seeped into every nook and cranny of each tome, embedding themselves into the paper.

But curiosity got the better of him, and he began flipping through the pages of several books. Maybe they had something useful, like a map. Much to his disappointment most of them were just the usual illegible text, but eventually he caught glimpses of drawings, and that’s where he stopped. Quickly, he flipped a few pages back to look at what he had seen. The pages were crammed with pencil sketches. All of them were simple circular shapes, with different symbols drawn within them. Some had descriptions written next to them, while others were crossed out in a mad rush.

While he observed the sketches, something clicked in his head. He remembered these – they were signets! The magic spells contained within runes that Liliwen once told him about.

Deciding they could prove helpful, he gently tore the pages out of the book, careful not to leave tears in the wrong places by accident, then dusted the sand off and folded them carefully, storing them in his backpack. Hopefully, Bohan would be able to translate these for him. Who knows, maybe one of them had a magic spell they could make good use of once they went deeper into the jungle. There was no harm in trying. With that thought, he buttoned the pack shut again. He was done in this tent.

“Alright, that’s all the tents here. Let’s check the kitchen next.”

It was then that he had noticed Tch’akkit had begun muttering to himself again, investigating the helm in his claws at piqued interest. The skritt seemed oblivious to anything else, red eyes scanning the object as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world. Sometimes, those eyes stopped and stared out blankly, and one could see that he was in deep thought, his rodent lips mumbling to himself. Asterix called his name several times, until finally, the Gaul gave up and simply snapped his fingers instead. The sharp click released Tch’akkit of his trance, and he stared at the cause of the noise.

“Hey, we lost you there for a second.” Asterix laughed.

“O-oh,” the skritt squeaked shamefully. His earlier excited, childish movements had slowed. As though he had matured in an instant. “My sincere apologies. Sometimes I get lost in my own train of thought.”

Indeed, seeing Tch’akkit in that way, it was like watching a druid completely lost in his research. Definitely something Asterix had not seen a skritt do before. He wondered…

“Hey, excuse me if I’m rude, but…” Asterix started, becoming reluctant at the idea if he should really ask such a question. Still, he continued, a bit haphazardly. “I, uh… I’ve met your kind before, but they never talk like you do. They were a lot more…um,” He stopped, unable to think of any words that wouldn’t offend the rat-like creature.

“Oh!” Tch’akkit suddenly squeaked, and his face lit up in a wide grin. Somehow he understood where the question was going. And he seemed eager to provide an answer. “Well, you see, we skritt do a lot through group communication, rather than just talking. The more of us are in one place, the smarter we become. Likewise, if there are less of us, we become a bit more… well, _simple_. I hope that makes sense.”

“Yeah, I think so.” The Gaul began to smile. It was a hive-mind kind of deal. Yet another mystery solved. “Also, hope we’re not getting in the way.”

“No problem. Scavenge all you like. Finders keepers, right?” The skritt beamed with a fair look on his face. “But, uh, if you find anything you can’t really make use out of…”

“I’ll leave it for you, don’t worry,” Asterix smiled. As he turned, he rolled his eyes with the grin still on his face. There was still a trait in the skritt he recognized. He picked his backpack up and ordered Bobbo to come along. “I’m going to check the food stores and the armory now. We’ll be on our way after that.”

“Wait, this place has a kitchen?” Tch’akkit suddenly asked with curious eyes.

“Yeah, but there’s probably nothing there.”

“But if there _is_ food, we share, right?” Tch’akkit questioned with a hint of anxiety lingering in his voice. “I-I have many kits to feed.”

_Oh, boy._ That instantly shot a pang of guilt right through the Gaul. “Of course,” he answered, collecting enough strength in order not to let his voice waver. “The jungle could provide us with something if we really need it.” At that very instant, Tch’akkit’s ears and rat-tail drooped. His whiskers shivered and claws shook.

“Wh-What? You’re going into the jungle?” the skritt squeaked with sudden terror in his eyes. “Oh, no. No no. You shouldn’t. It’s full of those creepy thorn monsters! Why would you want to g-go there?”

“Just…” He couldn’t help but feel bad for Tch’akkit, the hole in his chest now growing even wider. The creature looked so afraid. The thorn monsters he continued mentioning — _Mordrem…_ they must truly be a nightmare to face. “Don’t worry about it. Okay?” he tried to reassure, again. “We can handle it. We really need to cross the desert, as soon as we’re ready.”

Tch’akkit silently scratched his cheek, still looking very weary. But finally, after a little more reassurance, he let out a defeated sigh. “Well, if you really insist on going… then at least let us help. Crossing the desert is too risky. The monsters stand watch all the time. Fortunately, we have a tunnel system leading right to the jungle borders. It’s much safer!”

“That sounds like a plan. I’m sure my friend will also appreciate that.” Asterix forced himself to smile as best he could.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

The cavern halls were dark, but much cooler than the surface, making it a far more pleasant place to be. The air was fresher here, allowing it to be breathed more easily than the hot, dusty desert air above. Between all the torches affixed to the walls that lit the place, a single torch moved among them, swaying, and bobbing slightly up and down in the grip of a pale, thin, clawed hand. Only the skritt knew these tunnels well enough. After all, they had spent maybe a generation or two here. So Tch’akkit explained. He was happy to tell the purpose of every object, contraption, tunnel, and bridge in their base, as though they were something never seen before. But to be fair, Asterix didn’t feel like listening. He even didn’t muster the strength to look when the skritt pointed proudly to the huge, upside-down ship that hung within the cavern’s largest crevice, hearing only a blur of noises as he chattered away.

It wasn’t that he didn’t care at all. He was just feeling groggy. He could only assume that the scorching sun must have done a number on his comrades and himself, because as soon as they stepped into the shadows of the cavern, the sudden shift in temperature slapped each of them so hard in the face that it left them dazed. Bobbo only took mere minutes to recover, and once the animal did, he looked much better than when he did under the hot sun. Poor animal. Margrit would be fuming if she heard this.

But the fact remained that they were all tired. After all, today had been nothing but walking and fighting. At least Bohan cared enough to chat with the skritt, despite how he felt, and Tch’akkit seemed to enjoy the sylvari’s attention so much that he forgot about the Gaul. That meant Asterix didn’t have to worry much about being noticed for his silence for a while. _Just keep setting one foot in front of the other,_ he quietly told to himself. _It’ll be fine._

He felt more at ease with the fact that the skritt were kind enough to take in the two remaining seraph soldiers. They may have not agreed to coming along, but they didn’t need to suffer in the heat, either. In return, they promised to send help as soon as possible. Now, packed with what they could carry — not much at all, a bottle of blood-whiskey, the charr kind, and some leftover Pact rations, enough to last a few days, — that, and with a guide at their side, they pressed on. The sun snuck through the gaps of the cavernous den, trickling down bright light reaching as far down as the depths went. A light that, once their eyes were adjusted to the darkness, became unbearable to even look at.

Other than that, the canyons were indeed a very pretty sight. Once Asterix felt a bit more like himself, he mistakenly let his eyes trace along the lines of erosion, lime and iron that colored the walls like a work of art. Why didn’t they have natural wonders like these back home? Suddenly, as he stepped, he felt a shift. A loose rock rolled away under his foot, arching him forward in a surprised yelp. For a moment, his mind scattered, panic setting in with the possibility that he was going to tumble down the gaping hole they were merely passing by.

He felt the palms of his hands hit the dusty rock as he practically slammed them into the floor to hopefully stop himself from meeting that fate. Which worked, _thank Belenos._ His heart raced as he flopped on the ground, coughing at the dust kicking up. When he finally looked up, he was met with worried and surprised faces.

“You alright?” Bohan asked immediately. He extended a hand, but Asterix scrambled to pick himself up, patting away the red dust from himself.

“Loose rock,” he groaned. “Watch where you step…”

Slowly, as the group wandered deeper, the hive-minded nature the skritt became more apparent. The further away from home he walked, the more Tch’akkit began to, apparently, lose his intelligence. He soon began muttering to himself in a childish fashion. At a certain point, he had to be _reminded_ of what he was doing. Steadily, the tunnels became more narrow. The air turned cooler, turned more humid… And, with it, the feeling of dread hanging over each shoulder grew heavier the closer they came. Tch’akkit became jittery and uneasy. Until finally, he stopped walking entirely.

“Here.” Tch’akkit hissed, when he pointed at the sunlight that peered through the end of the last tunnel. “End of the tunnel. Jungle not far from here. Keep going forward. End of the line for me, yes? Not going any further.”

“Thank you Tch’akkit. You’ve been a big help,” Bohan said earnestly.

“Yes yes,” Tch’akkit squeaked while he waved his hand around impatiently. “Be quick. I want to go home. Don’t like it here…”

Were it not for what dangers loomed outside, Asterix would have been able to smile. “We won’t keep you any longer. Go to your family Tch’akkit. And thanks again,” he said. And then, Tch’akkit turned around, vanishing back into the darkness with his torch in hand. When he was fully out of view, Asterix and Bohan stared out to the exit.

“Well,” the Gaul began, taking his sword into his grip and sliding it out of its scabbard. The flames answered to his touch, lighting the tunnel they stood in. “This is the hard part. Ready?”

“I must confess, I’m a little scared. But…” Bohan admitted. His hand reached for shakily for his hatchet, but he became firm and confident when his fingers curled around the handle. “I’m ready.”


	19. Ruins of the Pact

**Warning: from here on out, the story will be roughly following the plot of the expansion _Guild Wars 2: Heart of Thorns_. This means there will be spoilers as well as major plot points present in the story.**

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

_Jungle._

When he heard the word, Asterix had always thought of warm, humid air, a strong smell wafting off a wide array of flora. The color green. Green as far as the eyes could reach. But today that was not the case. There was an even more intrusive smell of leaking oil and burning wreckage. The sight of smoke and fire, bellowing in the smoggy black and orange sky. The ruins of the Pact’s once mighty fleet laid there, broken. A ship graveyard, much reminiscent to the kind that rested on an ocean floor. The devastation left craters and pockmarks in what was left of the original scene. Not to mention the gargantuan, thorned vines that decorated rock, tree and ruin alike.

_No,_ he corrected himself. Gargantuan, thorned vines that _engulfed_ rock, tree, and ruin alike. Twisting and curling, with some of the broken remains of the fleet cradled in their grip. This was what a war against the jungle dragon looked like. Absolute destruction with no victory in sight. The people who went to war were blinded by their last victory against an Elder Dragon. Now they paid the price. How powerful was this beast, exactly, to be able to muster such a quick and well-performed defense?

The group looked on, down into the depths and the wreckage, with the canyon’s precipice as their only protection. They found no life down below at first sight. What in their right minds made them ever want to go here? The answer came unexpected and in a vocalized, joyful chime.

“There she is!” the voice called out behind him. Before Asterix had even a chance to understand what the sylvari meant, Bohan was already bounding ahead of him, cascading down the canyon with jumps and leaps. All he could do was give chase after the sylvari, calling his name the whole way.

“Bohan, wait!” He tried hard to catch up to the tall, bark-skinned man, but his voice faltered in the startlingly steep descent, and soon he was forced to focus on keeping his balance on the uneven surface of rocks and dry sand instead. Finally, he stepped on even ground with a painful thud. He felt the impact tremble through his legs.

Bohan shouted a second time, “Liliwen! Liliwen, thank the Pale Tree!”

But when Asterix looked up to meet the sight, he only saw Bohan, standing there and waving his arms like a madman. He tried a little harder, squinting to make sure it wasn’t just him. Truly, only Bohan was there. “Good gods. The heat has gotten to his head,” he huffed silently. Then he picked up his tired feet and slowly caught up to the sylvari.

“Bohan, there is nobody here.” He didn’t hear him. The sylvari was, in some way, absorbed in a make-believe world, and made a few more steps forward, smiling a wide happy grin and arms spreading to embrace the air. The Gaul quickly gripped tight onto his coat, forcing his weight into keeping the sylvari from moving further forward and possibly sending himself down the next cliff.

“Snap out of it Bohan. She’s not here!” he repeated, this time twice as loud. Finally, Bohan stopped with a blank expression written on his face.

“What?” said the sylvari. He blinked a few moments, letting reality set back in. The figure before him flickered away. “How?… I thought I saw her.” He stared down, and took a few steps back in shock. How close he was to falling into the depths, a drop of at least fifty feet down.

“You were hallucinating.” the Gaul answered. He slipped his backpack off himself, pulling out a jug of water and offering it to Bohan. “Come on, have some water. You’re looking wilted.”

Bohan nodded, and took it gladly. Indeed, the small leaves on the sylvari’s head, although a colorful palette of autumnal orange, red and yellow, never looked this dry before. His joints were creaking when he moved and his skin splintered. That couldn’t be good. Had he not been taking any water on their trip at all?

“Let’s set up camp here, just for tonight. We’ll start searching in the morning,” the human suggested.

True, they were all tired. Twilight was approaching, and it would be unwise to go searching in the dark.

Shortly after the sun had set, the cold came with a hungry vengeance. Asterix immediately put his survival skills to work, setting up a campfire in record speed. Soon, he was cooking their first meal of the day. They had not eaten anything since breakfast, so the smell of spiced meat roasting above the flame was a welcome one. After they finished, Bohan took it upon himself to be on watch for the first half of the night.

Not that Asterix was going to catch much sleep. He still feared the other dragon haunting his dreams. The noises of a distant war and the stench of smolder kept him awake anyway. No use trying if you knew you wouldn’t. He ended up leaning his back against Bobbo’s snoozing form. The bear didn’t mind, and it helped with the cold.

When they switched turns, the wind had picked up, blowing the smoke away from camp. It allowed for the night sky to clear. Asterix resorted to stargazing, taking glimpses back down on occasion to make sure they weren’t being watched, or approached by enemies. He gave the sleeping bear next to him a pat on the head or a scratch behind his ear every so often, finding that he would often be rewarded with a happy, thankful sigh.

Eventually a voice came from behind him.

“Do you ever look at the sky and wonder what’s out there? Such as…” Bohan paused, “Such as other life, perhaps?”

The Gaul flinched, not having expected the sylvari to still be awake. The question made him uneasy. It made him feel like he was sinking through the ground. What was he supposed to say? _’Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping?_ ’ was whathe _wanted_ to say. How he wished Bohan was asleep.

After he got no answer, Bohan chose to continue. “I mean, I got told this by some Priory theorist. He said that each star out there might be a sun like ours, and that each sun has worlds that could possibly have life on them. I didn’t think much of the stars at all, but ever since he said that, it just leaves me wondering.”

Asterix pondered the words. Each star … another sun? He looked at the sky. An endless number of tiny lights, flickering in a vast ocean of darkness. They were always thought to be small – smaller than the moon or sun. But now he realized it was only an illusion, because they were so much farther away. The thought made him feel so insignificant, that he was afraid to believe it. And yet, this world exists too. It has a sun, just like his. It made sense. His home was out there. One of those stars in that sky may very well be _his_ sun.

“Did you fall asleep?” the sylvari questioned. Asterix shook his head, despite knowing the sylvari would not see him make the gesture.

“No, no. I was just thinking about what you said. And, well…if you want my opinion…” Asterix took a deep breath, giving one last thought over the answer he was about to give.

“If this world exists, who’s to say there aren’t any others?” he said eventually.

Another moment of silence.

“Do you suppose they are inhabited by creatures like us? And more Elder Dragons?” the sylvari asked.

Asterix pondered. “Maybe some. Probably not all of them.”

“Imagine if you lived in a world without those dragons. That _would_ be nice. You wouldn’t have a care in the world.”

“That’s not— That probably _wouldn’t_ be completely true,” Asterix corrected. “There can be problems other than monsters. There could be war, or famine.”

“Oh, right,” Bohan mused. “But things would still be a lot better without the Elder Dragons around.”

“True,” Asterix replied dully, and rested his head into the palms of his hands. He suddenly didn’t feel much like stargazing anymore, and instead decided to look out into the precipice. As before, there was more wreckage than greenery. Shadows of the colossal tendrils loomed ominously in the distance. Asterix was sure his tired mind deceived him, when he thought he caught a glimpse of the things… _moving_. Flames still danced weakly in the distance, some of them looking almost like bonfires. Almost.

Or perhaps they _were_ bonfires, keeping the remaining troops warm and awake. No doubt they were off a lot worse down there.

Bohan then once again broke the silence. “You know, I heard fairytales about how all humans came from another world. Something about their gods bringing them here… What do you think of it?”

“Go to sleep,” grunted an exasperated Gaul.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

The first day of the search was nothing short of chaotic, in Bohan’s opinion. It began at sunrise.

Shortly after making the descent into the wastes, the group of three heard loud noises above their heads. A sound that was like trumpets and rapid flapping wings. The sylvari looked overhead. Pact choppers; an invention of the charr. Smaller and faster than airships, these crude looking metal constructs kept themselves airborne by the use of fast spinning blades instead of heated air. They were unarmed, which meant they were sent in to pick up casualties. Maybe bring reinforcements, as well.

“Seems they finally mustered a response,” Bohan muttered.

_They are like flies, unaware of the hand that might swat them at the right opportunity._

Despite the heat, the sylvari shivered involuntarily.

“Should we follow one of them? Maybe they’ll lead to an encampment,” one familiar voice suggested.

Bohan turned to look behind him. A short man followed him. He looked sleep-deprived. Skinny. Wearing only simple clothing with some leather armor and an iron helm with wings. A scabbard with a magic sword was at his side. He had a backpack that looked entirely too heavy for him to carry, yet he trudged it along on his back with relative ease. The human hardly looked any more of a threat than the fat brown bear that moped beside him. There was a questioning look on his face.

“Good idea,” Bohan said, nodding. “We could ask them if they’ve seen Liliwen.”

Following one of the choppers was a mistake. He realized it the moment they entered a fortified camp. Saw it in the furious eyes of a charr soldier twice his size and girth that had him pinned to the cracked sandy ground. The dust made his eyes water, and he had to hold himself back from sneezing. They were definitely in a Pact encampment; that much he could tell. A mixture of Vigil warriors, Priory mages, and Whispers spies. As expected, none of them were sylvari. Only charr or human, norn or asura. The sylvari were gone. With no knowledge of their fates, it made Bohan feel somewhat betrayed.

“Detain him,” the officer in command, a charr woman, said.

Much to everyone’s surprise, Asterix jumped into action when those words had been outed. He drew his sword, and when someone approached, he demanded an answer for their unfriendly actions. The norn took a step back when the sword spouted hot rage, retreating slightly but not relenting. After all, this man was easily five times his size.

“We only want to ask him a few questions – to determine where his loyalties lie,” assured the leader.

_But my loyalties lie with myself!_

“I’m not letting you do this. He’s with me, and we don’t have time for this!” Asterix looked furious. His sword almost seemed to respond to his anger by burning ever hotter. The bear growled menacingly, his fur standing upright as he bared his fangs. The Pact members, in turn, did not seem convinced. If neither party was going to give in, a fight was bound to happen. His friend would lose.

“No, wait. It’s okay, I’ll cooperate,” Bohan interfered. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

The Gaul stopped and looked at the pinned sylvari, dumbfounded. But thankfully, the flames were calming down. “You’re just going to let them treat you like this?”

Bohan smiled uncomfortably. “I don’t want anyone getting hurt. They don’t trust me. Let’s just be nice. Please.”

There was a short moment of silence. Asterix seemed reluctant to oblige, scanning the scene with his eyes for an explanation. The Pact soldiers around them looked wary and upset, their armor beaten, burned and ripped by their lost attempt to attack Mordremoth. Many had minor injuries. Finally, he slowly slid the sword back into its scabbard. “Fine,” he said, finally. Regardless, the man still seemed upset.

The charr that kept the autumn sylvari pinned raised Bohan off the ground and to his feet. Another soldier confiscated his weapons the moment he stood straight. They didn’t bother to do the same with Asterix. Still, Bohan simply cooperated. The sylvari was asked at least a dozen questions, sometimes hearing repeats of the same question to see if he didn’t change his answer. Another half-dozen more were asked after his captors turned to ask Asterix two. What they were doing here, and what their goal was. He explained that everyone in Tyria already knew about the sylvari betrayal, and that they came here by choice. Once it was settled and Bohan was finally trustworthy enough to be released, the officer took the two deeper into camp.

The Pact did its best to keep their encampment as fortified as possible. The tents, weapon racks and boxes of salvaged supplies were well covered between canyons and overshadowed by jungle foliage, and any opening was barricaded and guarded by several people. Surprisingly, there _were_ some sylvari Pact members here. Only those who had fully proven their allegiance with the Pact were accepted back within the ranks again. And yet even they were scared to death of the dragon. Worrying constantly, looking exhausted. Faces buried in their hands as they sat there, waiting for a fate they didn’t deserve.

Others weren’t so lucky.

Mines and traps dotted every exit. The Pact’s choice of setting up camp here was highly strategic. There was a clean spring fountain nearby, providing a limitless water source. Wooden wreckage cobbled together formed the central unlit bonfire, that would keep the men and women warm at night. Further down the path, there was a large camouflaged tent that housed the medic camp to treat the wounded. And many wounded, there were.

The charr nodded to the ground near the pyre and sat down there. Her ‘guests’ followed suit.

“When the assault began, we were given a nasty surprise by the Jungle Dragon,” the officer said. She glared up to the sun that was peeking between the trees, and she blew the air loudly through her nostrils. “We heard a roar, and then, giant vines shot out from the jungle and reached for our fleet. They were all caught in them – torn in half, crushed, dragged down… and just to add more salt to the wound, almost all of our sylvari comrades, once so keen on defeating the dragon, suddenly had this look in their eyes… bloodlust. Not for the dragon’s, but for ours. They turned against us. And started praising Mordremoth, killing in its name.”

Bohan staggered back with shock; his kin worshipped the dragon. Had they planned this all along? No, they couldn’t have. Bohan knew they were truly honest and well-meaning men and women. There existed much conflict in the world. But no opinion was more mutual as the one about Elder Dragons and their potential to threaten the world to extinction. Then he realized everyone nearby had turned to look at him, as if he were one of those monsters described by the charr. The only two who looked at him with pity were Asterix and Bobbo. His stomach dropped. Liliwen was also out there alone. She couldn’t be one of them, could she?

“We have reason to believe that the sylvari are somehow connected to Mordremoth,” the officer then continued. “A jungle dragon with an affinity for plants. Plant people. The link’s there.”

“You said almost all of them turned against you. How many didn’t?” Bohan quickly asked.

“Not enough,” the officer admitted. “You can tell, some of them are still on our side. Trahearne, our Pact Marshal, and Warmaster Laranthir, to name a few. Don’t know where they are.”

“Clearly this was against their will,” Asterix stated. Bohan wasn’t sure if he was being honest, or if he was just trying to make him feel better. “They haven’t betrayed you, Mordremoth must be forcing them somehow.”

“Perhaps.” The officer turned to look at Bohan. “It could be that the weaker-minded ones give in more easily. Once they’re turned by Mordremoth, there’s no going back. They change both mentally and physically.”

The sylvari swallowed, trying not to argue or look insulted.

“That would mean you’re still in the clear, twig. You should leave the jungle and go home, while you still have the chance.”

“I won’t!” Bohan retaliated. “I’m not leaving without Liliwen.”

“Bohan, maybe we should take her advice,” Asterix said, looking concerned.

“I’m not leaving without Liliwen,” the sylvari repeated. “Maybe _you_ haven’t known her long enough so it’s easier for you to abandon her to her fate, but I will go into that jungle alone if I have to.”

The officer hissed. “Judging from your friend’s name, she’s a sylvari too, right?”

“Correct,” the Gaul confirmed. He was more quiet than usual. Bohan recognized the tone of his voice as admitting a defeat. Why did he want to give up, now that they were already here? Was it that he wasn’t sylvari himself? That he had no sympathy or understanding for someone not his kind? No, surely that wasn’t the case.

“Then there’s a big chance she’s already turned or dead.” The charr’s slit, deep-green eyes expressed a hint of remorse when she said it. “I’m sorry, but you really should go home. The jungle’s no place for travelers.”

An asuran lookout shouted from the treetops. “Captain, we have Mordrem incoming! It’s a raiding party, at least thirty!” The charr snarled like a wild animal and bared her teeth as she got up and ran, taking her two-handed sword from the nearby weapon rack. She squeezed the enormous blade’s grip in her paws.

“Everyone to position!” Stop them from entering camp! Snipers, start picking ‘em off while they’re charging in!” She glared at Bohan and Asterix one more time. Mostly at Bohan. “And you two will stay put until we’re done,” she growled before leaving them. This, in turn, made the sylvari angrier.

“What about my weapons? Am I not allowed to defend myself?” he complained. But the charr didn’t hear him. She was already charging headlong into the battle as the other soldiers around the camp rushed to their respective positions. Even the medics had weapons. Loud shots rang from above camp as the snipers shot down the enemy one at a time.

“Just use your magic,” Asterix replied as he drew his sword and pistol. “Bobbo and I will keep them at a distance if they come for us.”

Then the enemy came. Various monstrosities built from plant and bark rushed the chokepoints of the camp. Many were akin to animals; wolves that had dead animal carcasses coiled by corrupted plant matter to shape their bodies, beehive-throwing trolls, and floating creatures shaped like deadly teeth-bearing flowers that spat acid. These were only the lesser minions, however. The worst ones, the ones that made both the sylvari and the Gaul stagger back in shock and disbelief, were the humanoids among them.

They immediately realized that those were the turned sylvari. Their skins had hardened to corrupted bark and lost all color, their leaves were withered if not gone, and they had abandoned all reason. These creatures fought with the strength and tact of trained militants; evident by their bulky physique and their strategic approaches – the brawlers at the front, ranged squad in the back. It took at least two Pact soldiers to overcome just one when the battle was up close. The snipers in the trees could pick the slow targets off one by one with clean headshots, but the Mordrem had hunters of their own, leaving death in their wakes.

Then the ground beneath the camp shifted. Remembering the last time that happened, the two adventurers in the middle of the battle lost interest in what was around them and watched for vines to burst from the ground.

There popped one, and then another. More followed shortly after. They were small but numerous, and strong enough to snag an unsuspecting soldier by the feet while they were busy fighting other, deadlier things.

Asterix started by stabbing the nearest tendril with his sword. He made no pause and pulled his blade out, letting the fire consume the dying vine while he lashed out for the next. “We have to stop those things from snaring them! Sic ‘em, Bobbo!” he cried as he severed another tendril. The bear roared and started stomping and biting the vines around him. Bohan looked at his empty hands. Indeed, Asterix was right. He did have his magic. So he lifted his hand and focused on the ground, drawing energy from his surroundings.

The Gaul jumped back a little when he noticed the ground underneath his feet turn putrid and dark. The vines trapped within the magic well crumpled and died as if the life was sucked out of them. He expected to become sick from the poison as well, but he didn’t – instead he felt invigorated. It was a strange power that flooded his very being. Necromancy? He looked at the sylvari, and witnessed Bohan stealing the enemy’s life-force and sharing it with his allies.

“I can’t keep this up forever,” Bohan said quickly. “Finish them!”

Without speaking a word, Asterix nodded and continued slaying the dragon’s minions. Each vine caught in the necromancer’s vampiric well granted the Pact the strength to continue unleashing their wrath on the Mordrem. Meanwhile, none of the vines at the center camp were given a chance to sneak up on the front-line. Asterix and Bobbo were too quick for any of them – as soon as one reared its head, it was either incinerated or forcefully bitten and stomped on until the root snapped. Bohan could feel the vines desperately squeezing around his ankles, but their grip wilted just as quick. His magic gave his allies the upper edge. They were winning. He felt dizzy from the adrenaline. Or was it maybe overexertion? It was before long that one of the Mordrem assaulters signaled to its comrades with a whistle of retreat.

“Mordremoth will come for you next time,” one of the creatures hissed, as it turned heel and fled the scene.

The charr roared victoriously. “Next time, we will come for Mordremoth!” The crowd cheered after her. Bohan couldn’t help but smile, proud that he helped. So many voices; voices that were glad that they had survived this fight, voices that mourned their fallen comrades, voices that wondered, what next? A voice…

**_“You disappoint me.”_ **

Then he turned pale, his vision went gray. The next moment he came to, he was staring at blurry lights.

“You okay?” somebody asked. It was Asterix. He could recognize his voice, but it sounded dull. The sylvari turned his head around aimlessly. The voice from earlier was so loud it felt like it was spoken directly into his ears. It felt strangely close to home, like a father he never had. But also sounded like an earthquake. Was that … Mordremoth? The dragon was disappointed in him?

“Good,” Bohan concluded.

“Good? You don’t _look_ good.” Asterix replied.

Did he say that out loud? Bohan could barely focus on Asterix. Bit by bit, he realized he was flat on the ground. What he was staring at before was the sunlight, peeking between the treetops. The blonde man looked like he was towering him from this angle. A bear appeared and loomed down over to smell the sylvari’s hair.

“Ah! Bobbo, please stop,” Bohan giggled.

“At least you look better than before,” Asterix crossed his arms, grinning. “You overused your magic, I think. I can still feel it tingling.”

The sylvari smiled nervously after he pushed Bobbo aside. “Y-yes, that must have been it. It was a pretty powerful spell…” He wasn’t sure if he wanted to tell the truth. That he heard Mordremoth. For now, it didn’t hurt him. So long as it didn’t hurt him, it couldn’t hurt the others.

He hoped.


	20. Blighting Tree

Daytime was more peaceful than night. A tranquil reprieve between the constant war. The Pact armies, or what was left of them, advanced onward. Intending to finish what they had started. It was a good opportunity to cover as much ground as they could. Some stayed behind to hold their established encampments.

The same counted for Bohan, Asterix, and their ursine companion. The group of three stocked up at the Pact camp and learned from the officer in command that their choppers would fly in to pick up wounded every other hour. Once Liliwen was found, they could come back there and take the chopper home once there was room left over. It surely would save them the extra travel time. Hiking all the way here under desert heat was a burden by itself.

Find Liliwen, and get her home. That’s the plan, but so far there was little luck. It was like seeking a needle within a haybale, and there was much hay to dig through; beautiful things and equally dangerous things to see. They saw many blooming jungle plants in a rainbow of colors. A small few were familiar to Asterix, while others were completely unknown to him, and he suspected them to be poisonous. Finding a flower-headed girl like Liliwen between all the flora would be a difficult task indeed.

Of course, daytime still had dangers of its own. With the wastes not far behind, and the smoke thick, the air was still hot and sometimes difficult to breathe. The jungle provided some humidity, but that did not make it any better.

There was also the local wildlife. Asterix didn’t think those tiny red-headed pocket raptors could be so ravenous and annoying. Bohan didn’t expect to meet living, angry mushrooms giving chase after anyone they crossed paths with. They met colorful frog-men in the tree tops, watching them warily. Tigers and leopards prowled, and mosquitoes were at large. The only reason it was ‘peaceful’ was because the dragon’s minions weren’t nearly as active at this time of day. Nobody knew why.

But the Gaul was well aware that they could be hiding. Waiting to ambush. Now that he had met the Mordrem converts up close, he knew they weren’t just dim-witted creatures that only followed orders. Although they did whatever their master told them to, they were still frighteningly intelligent, and retained their capability of making their own strategies against the enemy.

It was strange, though. Ever since Bohan had fainted in their first battle here, the Gaul felt an aura of unease radiate from the sylvari. He was quiet, leading the band at the front and not bothering to look back to see if the others were keeping up. Whatever caused him to collapse back there, set off a wave of doubt in the sylvari. Asterix wasn’t sure what, but he had his suspicions. He just hoped that he would be proven wrong soon. But as long as Bohan stayed at the front, he had an eye on him. He appreciated that.

As the three continued down the path, the Gaul eased and let his eyes stray and soak in the scene some more. They were still surrounded by Pact wreckage, up close looking worse than from the safety of the precipice they camped at last night. Metal ship hulls were stripped of their great leather balloons that gave them their ability to stay afloat in the sky, and their fins that drove them forward were tattered or pulled off. Snapped wiring gave off electric discharge, and their skeletal frames were bent. The twisting tendrils of Mordremoth curled around and through the ships’ remains, searching purposefully. Fire continued to burn as oil leaked from punctured tanks and metal barrels. There was no body to be found. Asterix wondered why that was.

He hadn’t noticed it before from up high between all the trees, but as they delved deeper into the jungle, Asterix also found that the jungle dragon destroyed not only the fleet. Like a child having a violent tantrum, the beast’s greatest vines separated large chunks of the earth as they broke through from underneath the jungle, creating fresh sinkholes, localized tremors, and other environmental hazards. As if the Pact didn’t have a hard enough time already. His mind didn’t deceive him this time; those enormous vines really did move. But they seemed to have no interest in mere mortals.

Despite the destruction, the greenery still flourished.

But their route grew more hazardous, one side of the path was riddled with loose rocks and thick roots. The other turned into a long, steep drop into a squirming mass of living vines. Too far down for them to pose a threat, but the fall alone would be lethal. Asterix could also see more chunks of land around him, caressed in the dragon’s grip. Connected merely by makeshift bridges, fallen trees, or the vines themselves. Each piece told a story of its own. Indigenous homes destroyed or abandoned, pact ships burning, bloodied signs of battle, Mordrem caravans…

Wait, what?

“Hold on,” he hissed at Bohan. The sylvari stopped in his tracks and turned. Asterix was pointing down the cliff, and the sylvari noticed what he had seen. Quickly they hid behind the nearest, best boulder they could find. What they had found below was a caravan. Of dead soldiers and animal carcasses. Two Mordrem guards led a four-legged beast of bark and plant, who pulled strong vines tied to its horns. At the other end of these makeshift ropes, the bodies were ensnared in netting, smearing cold blood along the path. Many tracks and dragging marks could be seen embedded in the road. It appeared to be used often.

“What are they doing?” Bohan questioned with a whisper. It didn’t make any sense. It seemed like they might be collecting the bodies for something, but why would they? Mordremoth was not a dragon of undeath. It had no use for them …did it?

“Not a clue,” the Gaul answered quietly. “But I don’t like it.”

“Me neither,” Bohan agreed. “We should keep our heads low and find out what they’re doing.”

Asterix looked at Bohan with concern. “What about Liliwen?”

The sylvari bit his lip. He looked conflicted, fidgeting and not ready to choose. But Asterix was already able to tell where his priorities were, and he agreed. Anything in the hands of the Mordrem meant nothing good could come of it. They had to find out what they were up to.

“We’ll find her,” Asterix asserted moments later, and he placed his hand on Bohan’s shoulder for reassurance. The sylvari didn’t look much better. Not breaking away his sight from the Mordrem escort, he nodded regardless with an uneasy expression on his face.

“I know.”

Keeping a long enough distance to not be spotted by the enemy, but close enough to not lose them, they began to stalk the caravan downhill. It was before long that they had reached their destination.

The giant tree was a spiral of dark wood and branches, and the place was swarmed by many more of Mordremoth’s minions. The smell of death was powerful, creeping into nostrils even from a great distance. The land on which the tree stood was separated from the rest of the jungle, and surrounded by deadly brambles. It was made accessible only by one route, formed by the great vines that served as a bridge. The tree feasted on the magic deep below, visible from the sickly glow that crept out from between splitting bark as its roots reached into the abyss, where the dragon fed it. The monstrous thing had no leaves, and only grew thorns and giant, rotten looking crops from its branches. These strange fruits glowed too, and moved as if they were alive, or as if something was inside.

The caravan stopped in front of the tree, and the Mordrem began untangling the vines from the corpses and dragging them one by one under the tree between its massive roots. From there, spying group could no longer see. They chose to take cover in the bushes, far and high from the danger zone. It was difficult to make out what happened down there, between the boughs and thorns of the great tree. They could only speculate.

“Why are they bringing corpses here?” Asterix questioned.

“To create new minions.” That was not a voice they recognized. It came from behind, and was deep and throaty. Surprised, the group swiftly turned their heads and drew their weapons, expecting that they were caught by a Mordrem from behind. But it was a charr. A lone charr, in dark knightly armor with many spikes adorning it. He wore a blindfold, though did not act like he was blind. He stared directly at them.

Before they had a chance to let out a sigh of relief, though, the cat-like beast snatched Bohan off the ground, and snarled. Asterix, taken by surprise, swiftly rose to his feet to defend Bohan from the assaulter. But the charr easily threw him off balance with a swift kick, and he hit the dirt again with a thud, dropping his sword. The weapon’s flame died as it hit the ground.

The short man’s eyes watered from dry dust that was kicked up as he made impact with the ground, and when he finally had a chance to see again, another ambusher grasped him by the shoulder and locked him in an inescapable grip. He could only see the powerful arms wrapped around him, but it was enough to tell him it was a norn with a medium brown skin. His armor felt like it were metal, leather and furs, a typically norn fashion. He heard a deep but young male voice grunting, accompanying a shield’s clattering against his back in the struggle. Asterix called for Bobbo, but soon learned that the large man had forced the poor animal into submission with a swift pummeling of his mace. The great grizzly laid sprawled on the ground, weeping.

As quickly as the fight began, did it seem to end. The ebony-brown charr took and raised his sword, setting it ablaze as his paw squeezed the grip. Asterix’s eyes widened as he saw the weapon – it was flaming sword like his, but glorified and as though it should be in the hands of a benevolent lord. Its guard was a golden dragon’s head, intricately designed yet unbreakable. From its open maw, it spewed fire that engulfed its double-helix twin blades. The charr raised Bohan higher, preparing to ram the sword into the sylvan man, killing him definitely. His opponent fought back as best he could, but could do no more than flail and kick his legs, his hands too occupied with keeping the firm paw from squeezing his throat shut if he let it.

He had to be stopped! Unheeding the norn’s presence, Asterix called to the bear again. “Bobbo, bite!” But the bear did not obey.

“ _Bite!”_ he tried again. This time the bear pressed his paws deep into the dirt and made a leap, shutting his jaws around the norn’s arm.

“Ah!” Startled, the man staggered as Bobbo pounced him. It was enough for Asterix to struggle free before the norn got overwhelmed under the great grizzly’s weight, and as he rolled aside, the norn, —now revealed as a red-haired young man— collided with the ground, with an angry bear on top of him. This time, the Gaul reached for his bow and arrow.

“Stop right there!” Asterix shouted, drawing an arrow back on his bow and aiming it at the charr. Suddenly, time seemed like it had come to a halt all around them. Nobody dared move, all but the charr who directed his head toward the small man. The black blindfold’s tattered ends waved with a jungle breeze. Perhaps he really was blind, but his four ears were perked in his direction, and he gazed at the Gaul as if he were able to see him perfectly well. A hiss and a long growl escaped from between his long fangs.

“I’m doing you a favor, human,” the charr snarled.

“You’ll do me a favor by releasing him,” Asterix retorted. His aim crept towards the attacker’s arm, lingering between shoulder and hand. It was difficult for him to make a clean shot with the dust still clearing from his eyes. He did not intend to kill anyone, but he was also afraid of hitting Bohan. “Let him go.” He bluffed, but the beast sensed his hesitation. The charr growled.

“This sylvari is weak. Once Mordremoth gets a hold of him, he will lob his axe into you while your back is turned.”

“You _will_ release him,” Asterix threatened. “If you don’t, I will shoot. Even if I miss, my arrow will alert those Mordrem below.”

The charr, though unfazed by the threat, paused and turned to look behind him. The little man was right. Mordrem were crawling below at the base of the giant tree. His bowstring was already tensed and ready for release. All it would take was him letting it go; nobody could stop him. It didn’t matter where the arrow would fly. It would alert the enemy either way. Fighting a hundred Mordrem would be much less favorable. He turned back, and gave the Gaul a sly grin.

“Well played.”

Finally, he released Bohan from his grip, letting him drop to the ground. The sylvari scrambled to his knees, wanting desperately to crawl away from the threat. The charr watched him for a moment, making sure he wasn’t going to turn on him. The norn, still occupied with Bobbo, tried to hush the angry animal, understanding that the battle was forfeited, for now.

The charr looked at Asterix once again. “Who’re you with? What is your order?” he inquired. The sound and the urge of his voice suggested he was demanding to know, as if he were some kind of superior. What did he mean with ‘his order’? Did he mean the Pact? Asterix hesitated.

“Answer me,” the charr demanded.

“Nobody, it’s just us. We’re looking for a friend.” Asterix answered. He couldn’t think of anything else. The charr looked surprised, and he growled, unsatisfied with the answer.

“You come out here with only a sylvari as your backup, and for what? A rescue mission? Do you even know the situation you’re in?”

“We’re leaving as soon as we find her.”

The charr laughed. “Your faith is severely misplaced, especially for a human. Let your friend prove his allegiance then,” he suggested. “We will take that blighting tree down together.”

“Rytlock,” the young norn spoke up after he finally had the bear off his back by soothing the creature. “We don’t have time for this, the commander is waiting for us—”

“The commander can wait a little longer.” said Rytlock. “If we destroy that tree, we’ll have one less minion factory to worry about. Well?”

The Gaul flinched at the words. What did he mean, _minion factory?_ Were the bodies used to create new minions? But Mordremoth is a jungle dragon, it doesn’t bring people back from the dead!

“W-What do you mean, minion factory?” Bohan asked before Asterix could, his voice wavering as he was still shaken by the assault that just overcame him.

“Bodies go in. Mordrem copies come out,” the charr answered.

“How?” the sylvari asked.

“I should be asking you. I don’t share minds with the dragon of cabbages.”

Bohan then bowed his head shamefully.

“Cut him some slack,” Asterix said angrily. “He’s on our side.”

“Sure,” Rytlock responded, dismissive. The Gaul felt his face boil. The nerve of this guy! He was not about to let this weirdo boss them around.

“If you want to be hostile, do it towards the Mordrem!”

Rytlock growled, not breaking away his sight from Bohan. “I’m looking at one.”

Then, when Asterix was about to approach the charr, he felt the norn’s hand grip his shoulder again. This time, not forcefully, the strength in his arm restrained.

“Enough,” said the norn. “Are we going to destroy the tree or what?”

Bohan, happy to disperse the conflict, chimed in agreement with the norn. “How are we going to destroy it? It’s teeming with Mordrem.”

Rytlock huffed, “I’ll show you how.” He raised the dragon sword in his hand. Answering the charr’s whim, the blade spewed its flame more violently. Asterix remembered his own, and walked over to his dropped blade to pick it off the ground. His hand closed around the grip, and the fire was given life again. His sword was dwarfed by Rytlock’s, but its flame rivaled that of the noble blade all the same. He then remembered something else.

“There’s a shipwreck nearby. There were barrels of oil scattered nearby it. If we lit some of those and threw them at that thing…”

Rytlock smiled. “I like your thought-process, shorty.”

“Great, we have a plan!” the norn said.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

After a rushed salvage, fourteen steel barrels were lined up on their sides along the top of the cliff, ready to be lit and rolled downhill. Their bungs had been carefully removed, and the holes were then stuffed with dry vines and other flammable matter that would act as the fuse. “When the fire starts, they’ll be coming for us,” Rytlock warned. “Braham and I will hold them off at the precipice while you two drop the bombs on their precious tree. Once you run out of barrels, you join us and we’ll clean up what’s left of them.”

Bohan and Asterix both nodded in agreement. Then, Rytlock placed his clawed foot on the first barrel. “Now, let’s have some fun.” The great sword in Rytlock’s paw crept close to the barrel’s bunghole, carefully encouraging the fuse to catch flame. As soon as the leaves sparked and began to burn, he estimated his aim and pushed the barrel forward with his foot. It tumbled down the cliff, then began to roll, faster, faster down the hill, until it finally hit the natural ramp formed by the earth’s separation. The bomb went flying, and crashed down between the branches of the tree. They were quiet for a moment, awaiting the explosion.

And there it was. First, a cloud of flame burst out from between the roots. A bough of the tree splintered and snapped, and shards of metal dug into root and Mordrem alike. The fire immediately began its hungry purpose to consume. A mere second later, they heard the explosion from afar.

“Bullseye!” Braham cheered.

Rytlock smiled. “Ahh, listen to that. The boom, the crackle, the anger when they realize what’s happening…”

“Time isn’t a leisure here,”Asterix criticized, his sword already lighting the second barrel’s fuse. The barrel received a hefty kick and began rolling down to its target, hitting the tree again with a blooming swell of orange and yellow and the sound following moments after. The third followed suit after being lit by Braham, missing the tree only by several paces but still making a breathtaking scene and taking many Mordrem with it. The charr grinned when he saw the enemy flying.

Perhaps Rytlock was a sadist, but Asterix had to agree. This was quite satisfying, knowing the evil that happened down there. He was only worried of the fire destroying more than they were anticipating.

Bohan lit the fourth fuse with his makeshift torch. He did not hesitate; in fact he looked more determined than Asterix had ever seen him before, and he found it to be a good sign. He truly was a sylvari eager to rebel against his so-called ‘master’. Rytlock approved when the barrel went tumbling down and struck the blighting tree yet again.

“There they come!” Braham called. He drew his shield and mace and rushed to block the only route to them and their makeshift artillery. Bobbo quickly followed closely behind him, having taken a liking to the norn. The surviving Mordrem, still a several dozen, swarmed the vine bridge at the base of the tree soon after discovering the attempt to stop one of their facilities, and they were furious.

“You know what to do,” said the charr, after which he joined his norn comrade. One by one, each barrel was lit and pushed off the cliff. The seventh one missed, leaning towards the left too much as it made its way to the tree. The ninth detonated too early, halfway along its path.

Regardless, the blighting tree took many hits, and the fire created a spectacle.

The tenth barrel rolled out. Four were left. Asterix and Bohan rushed to finish their job so they could join in the fray. Braham, Rytlock and Bobbo held off the Mordrem from reaching the barrels, but with strain. Braham used his magic to conjure a palpable magical barrier, pushing unsuspecting Mordrem off balance and sending them falling down the cliff. The enemy’s arrows could not pierce the mighty shield, and Rytlock used this to his advantage to burn the enemy at the front line while standing behind its safety, either with his sword or his own magic. Bobbo picked off those few who managed to get past the duo. But without Bohan and Asterix, they would not be able to gain more ground and advance towards the source. And the mordrem continued to swarm from the massive tree.

However, the blighting tree was dying. It would soon run out of minions. The final barrel was lit by Bohan. He pushed it down the slope. “This is for the Pale Tree!”

“Let’s go!” Asterix shouted. He stowed his sword and took his bow and arrow instead. The enemy was concentrated and densely packed at the bridge, held back by Braham’s shield. It would be hard for him to miss here. Bohan took hold of his hatchet and dagger. His necrotic abilities would aid them greatly.

Once the others joined up, Braham began to advance, bringing the ethereal shield with him as he did. Asterix was still slow with his aim, but none of his arrows missed. Unlike the enemy’s, his arrows slipped effortlessly through Braham’s magical barrier like a hot knife through butter, and struck target after target. It didn’t always kill them, but sometimes it would put them off balance just enough, and they would tumble down into the abyss. Rytlock used his sword to slice into the enemy, incinerating them. Bohan’s magic infused the team’s weapons with life-stealing properties, causing each slash, shot and burst of flame to empower their next attack. Soon they were advancing over the bridge, and the Mordrem surely ran out of reinforcements. Their team was unstoppable.

Then, there was only one left.

“Who dares?” asked the final Mordrem. This one was a giant, with the features of a woman. Her head was adorned with great antler-like growths, and she only had a single eye. Her stature made her no doubt the overseer of the facility. She stood before the burning tree, facing them, with her two long blades out. One in each hand.

“We’re here to turn your tree into a nice little pile of ash,” Rytlock answered. “Now if you would be so kind, we need you to die.”

“Fools,” the creature hissed. “You think destroying just one tree will do you any good? Mordremoth has a thousand more. And if you kill me, he will bring me back stronger than ever.”

Braham puffed. “Then I guess we’ll just have to keep killing you until you stay dead.” His magical shield flickered away, and in place, the norn raised his mace, imbuing it with his own magic in preparation for the coming battle.

The Mordrem laughed. “I will never stay dead.”

“Rytlock, you do have a plan B, right?” the sylvari whispered. Asterix wondered this, as well, but he knew they were going to fight the overseer either way. He already had his arrow drawn far back on his bow, sensing the tension on its bowstring. Braham, as any norn, was itching for a fight. But when they saw Rytlock staring at the Mordrem creature, he did not look impressed by her at all.

“It’s bluffing. Keep hitting until it stops moving.”


	21. Diarmid

“Bluffing, you say.”

The Mordrem creature slowly advanced, her silhouetted swords glinting in the light of the dancing flames behind her. “I am Diarmid,” she said. “In a previous life, I would have been your ally. But it was Mordremoth who deemed me worthy, who rebirthed me into what you see now.”

Diarmid then stopped closely in front of the motley crew, towering over them and gazing down at them coldly. Her singular slit eye scanned each member, but when she locked sight with Asterix, it struck an especially uncomfortable feeling in him. Like he realized she had just then and there decided that she would kill him last. The Mordrem commander smiled eerily.

“He has already done it once. He can do it again.”

Rytlock hissed angrily, “Just means you can also die again.”

“Your witty little comebacks are adorable,” the Mordrem overseer cooed and taunted, looking down at Rytlock like he were a cute kitten. This angered the charr further, and he started by lashing out at her with his sword, roaring furiously. She hopped back effortlessly, avoiding contact with the sword’s fire. Rytlock swung his blade again with fury in his eyes. She deflected it with one of her own.

Rytlock continued his assault restlessly. But it was like Diarmid could predict every move he made, countering them each with her blades. Asterix understood her tactic. She waited for an opening. The right moment to strike back. He couldn’t let her have that opportunity. With his arrow still set on his bow, he drew it further back on his bowstring until he felt it wouldn’t go further, and aimed for her head. She was a lone and moving target. He had difficulty with moving targets. But she was much taller than his teammates. He could safely fire high without risking hitting them.

He let his arrow fly. It flew in front of her surprised face, a mere few inches away. She took a short pause to see where it came from. Just as Rytlock leaped and raised his sword over his head to bring it down on her, she crossed her blades together and deflected it, sending the charr to catch himself on his feet to the ground like a cat.

“Cheeky little thing, aren’t you,” Diarmid commented at the Gaul. “Didn’t your parents teach you it’s rude to interrupt?”

Asterix didn’t bother to reply, already reaching out for the next arrow from his quiver. In his head he reminded himself there were few formalities in war. Braham joined Rytlock as well, mace and shield at the ready, while Diarmid pushed Rytlock backwards with a forceful shove. Bohan glanced around at the corpses of Pact allies strewn underneath the burning tree, and one by one they slowly lifted themselves up through his will. The bodies were fresh and showed hardly any signs of decomposition. Only their eyes were dry and milky, and their skins were pale. Some had suffered fresh burn marks from the flames. Finally, about a dozen managed to respond to the necromancer, and they each began to shamble towards their target.

The Gaul saw Rytlock howl out as the charr’s arm received a cut from Diarmid’s blade, then, when Braham rushed to help, he was kicked aside. Diarmid laughed. She wasn’t waiting for any openings at all. She was toying with them. From the corner of his eye, Bobbo advanced, rushing to sink his teeth into the Mordrem. But she dodged the bear’s fury, and suddenly she was in front of Asterix. She knocked him off balance before he could react, and he felt one of her blades brush his arm. Startled, he dropped his bow, and the arrow he was holding was sliced in half by Diarmid’s other sword. Then, a kick to his chest sent him toppling.

Asterix fell backwards, landing painfully against his backpack. He groaned as he pushed himself up as quick as he could, and noticed the weight of the bag was gone. Its straps had been ripped by Diarmid’s swords. Its contents had spilled across the ground; a small assortment of items and provisions. As well as the paper with the signet spell he had stored inside it, and the bottle of blood whiskey. Before the hot wind could blow the paper away, he crawled towards it and snatched it from the ground.

For a short moment, he stared at it, crumpled in his balled fist. Then he shook his head. _Not the time,_ he thought to himself. He didn’t know what sort of spell it may be. It could backfire and put his teammates at risk. He sloppily pocketed it instead and moved to pick up his bow again. Diarmid was already off pestering the rest of his team with her taunting and dodging. Bohan ordered his minions to give chase, but they lagged after her, unable to catch the monster. The small warrior raised his hand back to reach for another arrow in his quiver, but all he grasped was thin air. Surprised, his hand searched and came back empty. _Crud_ , he thought to himself, then he set his bow back in its holder. It was time to bring out his sword.

Then the creature stood in front of him once more. Asterix staggered back in surprise before he could unsheathe his blade and cried out in a panic. It was his turn to play again. Diarmid grinned wickedly and playfully lashed her sword at the unarmed victim, only missing him because it wasn’t her intention to kill him…yet. The Gaul crawled back, the destroyed backpack’s inventory strewn around him. His hand searching desperately for something, anything.

Diarmid bent forward over him, smiling something dark and sadistic. She was going to do it – she was going to kill him. But that moment, the moment she stood still, finally. Looming so close to him that he could feel her breath. Determined, Asterix blindly snatched the closest object he could grab off the ground, and struck her face with it.

She cried out in anger and pain, glass shards digging deep into her skin and the alcohol stinging at her eye and her freshly made wounds. Staggering back, she began to curse. It had all been a blur to him, the flash of a glimmering vial that he held, swiping past the woman’s face and breaking when it made contact. But he was starting to connect the dots. The object he took was the bottle of charr-made blood whiskey. The brew had been left to rest in a smokehouse; he could smell both the smoke and the meat infused into it, but the alcohol smelled the strongest. His tunic felt soaked and cold, which he could only assume was from the same stuff he doused Diarmid with.

With the creature finally distracted, Bohan took his opportunity and focused. Responding to his will, his undead minions stared at her, then all began to make a run for her. The first one to reach her grabbed Diarmid’s wrist. The mordrem could not be bothered with it until she felt many more undead creatures swarm up to her, grabbing hold of each of her limbs and hanging on like dead weights until it was too difficult to even stand.

She struggled, making angry and desperate cries, as Bohan’s minions overpowered her and locked her in place. When she was finally completely immobilized, Rytlock picked his sword off the ground and stood up, breathing loudly and with strain. He did not say anything. Not a single word. He ran towards her, roaring, and he allowed the flames of his sword to finish the deed. Diarmid burned. Together with those clinging on to her. The smell of alcohol quickly became that of cooked flesh and smoldering bark.

She burned, together with the tree. And she screamed on until the flames died and she died with them. All Asterix could do was watch, uncomfortably close to the scene, until Braham grasped him by the collar and pulled him away from the fire across the dirt.

“Be careful! You’re a fire hazard,” the norn warned. The Gaul scrambled to his feet again, taking a few extra steps back from the pile. Braham was right. A small spark could still set him ablaze, being covered in such a volatile liquid.

When Bohan relaxed from his tensed pose, his remaining minions each gave up the life force they were gifted, returning to peace once more. Diarmid’s body was not hard to find between the smoldering pile. Frozen in time, she was turned to a screaming statue of coal. The stench… Asterix felt like he was going to gag. He had seen someone die in front of him before. The Icebrood norn, a dragon minion just like Diarmid. But dragon minion or not, he knew he was never going to get used to it. Whoever Diarmid was in that previous life, didn’t deserve being Mordremoth’s slave. He sincerely hoped that what she was wrong about what she had claimed, that she would come back.

She didn’t deserve to die this way either. It should have been quicker. The Icebrood died instantly, a single arrow right between his eyes. It was merciful, and he would have felt the tip make contact for only a split second. But Diarmid died horribly. It took a full minute before she stopped screaming. Would it even have been possible to kill her faster?

Yes, Asterix confirmed for himself. He shouldn’t have missed his mark.

The tree Diarmid guarded had blackened in the fire, the last of its life finally taken, as well. The putrid pods hanging from its branches had popped in the boiling heat. It was silent, safe for the crackle of embers.

It was done. He suddenly heard Braham laughing and cheering. Bobbo joined in the norn’s joyous chimes, circling him like an excited dog, tongue lolling and feet stomping. Rytlock was smiling, satisfied with the job. Asterix felt a bit proud too, knowing that they did the Pact army a big favor today by taking out one of Mordremoth’s minion factories. But Diarmid was another story entirely. Then he noticed that Bohan was different as well. He looked upset, despite the victory. The sylvari took a sad glance towards the dead and blackened blighting tree, and back again at Diarmid’s body. Blackened too. A breeze would turn her to ash.

It wasn’t strange at all, when he thought about it. Diarmid was probably the only one who had shown this much personality, even after being claimed by the dragon. She was a sylvari, like him. She was a person. And Asterix saw the pain in Bohan’s eyes.

Then, a paw dropped on his shoulder, and Rytlock took a deep breath nearby the Gaul. First it made him a bit uncomfortable, until he realized the charr was merely smelling the air around him.

“Shouldn’t have broken that bottle,” Rytlock mumbled, disappointed. “It was the good kind too. Would have been great to toast a victory to.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Asterix said, wringing the alcohol out of his tunic as best he could. “I can tell just by how it smells that I won’t like it. She probably would have been toasting to our deaths too, if I didn’t use it.”

Bohan, after collecting his senses, stood up. Still not daring to come near Rytlock, he instead decided to stow his weapons to hang from his belt. “Besides, we don’t have time,” the sylvari said.

Rytlock nodded slowly. “Right, your little rescue mission. I guess we shouldn’t keep each other up anymore.” Suddenly, the charr perked up his head, ears twitching as if listening. “I sense something.”

“What is it?” Braham asked. “Your spirit powers?”

Rytlock growled lowly at the remark, his head gazing at the direction he felt a presence despite his blindfold. “It’s one of them. They’re nearby. Let’s regroup with the Commander first.”

“Right.” Braham stowed his shield to his back and hung his mace back in his belt. “Good luck you two,” the red-haired norn said to the three remaining team members. He ran after Rytlock, crossing the vine bridge and leaving their sight.

Three once more. The eerie silence of a battle’s aftermath surrounded them.

“Wow,” Bohan finally sighed, breaking that silence. “Rytlock Brimstone almost killed me.”

“Brimstone?” Asterix perked up. Nobody had mentioned any ‘Brimstone’. “You know him?”

Bohan then looked back at Asterix, looking even more confused than him. “You don’t?”

No, he did not, he thought to himself. He was then blinded by a sparkling light, forcing him to raise his hand to his eyes to block some of it. The sun was hanging low between the trees in the distance. Night was going to set in soon. They had to find shelter. And if he had any say in the matter, it was not going to be here, between the smolder and coal. Some Mordrem would probably come to investigate. “Let’s talk about it more after we find a safe place to set up camp,” he suggested. The sylvari agreed.

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The sun went down quickly, and there wasn’t much time. They had chosen a cavern to spend the night, not very far from the dead blighting tree, but it was as far as the group could go. It may not have been very safe, but at least they weren’t out in the open. Asterix had washed his tunic and himself in a nearby stream, and left the piece of clothing to dry on a stone. But even though he washed it until it no longer felt sticky, the odor still hung. The smell of the campfire – and the everlasting stench of the smoky charr whiskey – at least kept lurking predators at bay. The Gaul would not be comfortable for long though, and chose to stay huddled, keeping the blanket of his sleeping bag around him and once again using a restful bear as his support, while they planned their next searching route.

A makeshift map was drawn by Bohan, using a piece of charcoal collected from the tree. They had gone a fair distance to the west, or so Asterix could only assume. Their track was like a snake; slithering from side to side to cover as much ground as they could. Bohan used the sun as his anchor, following it as it settled. North was a dead end, a freshly made crevice that was too wide to cross and too deep to survive the drop. East led back to the desert. Which then left them with south.

South… South was where Mordremoth lived. And the Pact was heading that way to kill it. Liliwen had to have gone south. On the upside, they would have an army at their side if they followed. On the other hand, there was a dragon there. A dragon with an army of its own.

He hated the idea of giving up, and he figured that if Bohan wanted to continue the search, he wouldn’t leave his side. But Asterix could already tell from the sylvari’s irritated expression that things were not looking bright. The Gaul waited for a few more minutes, to see if the sylvari could make up his mind. Then Bohan let out a frustrated grunt, and threw the map aside. Much to the sylvari’s disappointment, but not surprisingly, the shred of paper didn’t go far.

“You okay?” Asterix asked.

“I don’t know…” the sylvari sighed, looking visibly upset, almost on the verge of tears. He stared at the crumpled map from the corner of his eye, considering his only two options. Continue or go back. He was torn between them. He wanted Liliwen back, so badly. He had no idea what she was doing, or what was to become of her.

“I’m with you if you want to continue,” Asterix assured.

“No… Perhaps…perhaps we should give up,” Bohan answered, eventually.

Asterix was disappointed. But not in Bohan. For as short as he knew her, Liliwen was a great and helpful, charitable friend. It was not right to leave her to her fate. Then again, she knew how to get around. She may even be fine, for all they knew.

With that thought in mind, he wanted to perhaps share some positivity. “She’s probably with the Pact herself already. She’ll be safer with them.”

But the sylvari’s face sunk. “They might kill her…”

“Only if she attacks first.” Of course the Pact wouldn’t trust a sylvari at first. Not after what happened. But they would never outright kill her. After a while, he searched into his backpack, and out came two ration bars, wrapped tightly in thick paper. He tried to simply distract Bohan a little by tossing one of the ration bars his way. “Let’s try to eat. We’ll need the energy for tomorrow.” He then took the remaining one to himself. Bohan stared at the bar, not bothering to pick it up yet.

Asterix started fiddling with the wrapping of his ration bar for a bit. When it finally came off, he was presented with a hard grayish-brown block, that was supposed to be full of nutrients. But when he bit down, he could not discern the taste, which he could only describe as boring, or what was put inside of it. It would have to do. These things were worth a single meal each, and skipping lunch while traveling and fighting all day did not do a body well. By the time they had found this small hideout, hunger began to nag at him. Unfortunately, the bar was small and gone fast. It didn’t fill particularly well.

He leaned back into Bobbo, feeling disappointed. It was quiet here, but occasionally they would overhear the firing of guns, clash of swords, and shouts and cries of warriors outside. Bohan seemed more stable after a while, and then finally ate as well. Asterix eventually dug into his pocket, revealing the crumpled paper with the spell in his hand once again. He carefully folded it open and looked at the drawing. Slightly stained with that nasty drink, but he could still tell what it was.

“What do you make of this?” Asterix asked while showing the uncrumpled paper at Bohan. The sylvari, visibly disturbed, leaned in and inspected the drawing presented to him carefully.

“Looks like a signet to me,” the leafy man nodded. “The jagged lines in the center make me think of some kind of thunderbolt. An air spell, perhaps?” He then went on with his meal.

Asterix took the paper to himself and looked down at it. It looked done in a mad rush, but he could definitely see the thunderbolt scribbled in between the lines. He tried to imagine what the spell would do. His best guess was that it could call lightning from the sky to strike the ground, or a target.

“How do you activate it?” he asked.

Bohan halted with his ration bar clenched between his teeth, just barely not biting down on it, and looked up at Asterix. “Huh?” he muffled an unflattering sound with the bar still in his mouth.

“I know, I know,” Asterix laughed awkwardly. “You wonder, ‘how do I not know this?’“

The young sylvari blinked and nodded, staring at the Gaul with his pale eyes wide like a curious child.

“Well… I just don’t.” He sheepishly scratched the back of his head, still looking at the signet. He stopped himself from mentioning that Liliwen told him about them.

Then, Bohan took the bar out of his mouth and used his other hand to point at the drawing. “All you do is tap the center. It only responds to the touch of your fingers. Easy.”

Asterix shifted his sight to the bolt of lightning inside. It was much less difficult than he’d thought it would be. Perhaps risky, even. But usually they were small; people had them sewn on their clothes, sometimes even as tattoos. “I suppose you wouldn’t know what it does, huh?”

Bohan grinned. It was a welcome sight to see the sylvari smile again. “Something shocking, I’m sure.” Amused, Asterix smiled at the fully intended pun as well, and watched Bohan bite down on his bar again.

“We probably shouldn’t try it now, then.” Asterix then sighed, and he carefully tried to fold the drawing up again, rather than crushing it like he did last time, and reached for his backpack to pocket it.

“Save it for if you’re in a pinch. Air spells are commonly offensive ones,” the sylvari suggested.

Again the faint noise of battle. A light shake of a distant explosion forced the cavernous ceiling to shed a bit of dirt and sand. Roots trembled and creaked. A low moan from deep in the earth… Bohan was captivated by the noise, listening to the sounds like they were speaking to him. Suddenly Asterix realized that this wasn’t really another skirmish. He tried to listen harder, holding his own breath. There was a strange sound rumbling harmoniously between the noise. It was like a voice, but he couldn’t understand it.

“Yes,” Bohan suddenly agreed in a whisper after the noise had stopped.

The Gaul shifted to look at Bohan. “What was that?”

“What?” Bohan repeated after him.

Asterix didn’t like that. But Bohan stared back at the map on the ground beside him. He took it, and looked at it. “We’re going south at dawn.”

The Gaul’s helm-wings lowered with suspicion. “Are you sure we should?”

“I changed my mind,” Bohan said. “We shouldn’t give up. We’ve already wasted so much time. And I have a good feeling about south. She must be there.”

“If you say so,” the Gaul answered a bit nervously. He was going to keep a closer eye on Bohan for sure. He reached back and gave Bobbo a few pats on the head. The fuzzy deep brown of the bear’s fur reminded him of Rytlock. Bobbo was certainly a lot friendlier though.

“So where exactly do you know Rytlock from?” he decided to ask.

“He’s famous,” the sylvari answered. “Rytlock Brimstone is part of Destiny’s Edge. Dragon killers.”

“Really? How many?”

“Well, just one so far. But they were also the first to ever try it. They even almost killed Kralkatorrik.”

Kralkatorrik … that was a new name. Asterix could only assume how many of these beasts existed. Each time he heard the name of another one, the more dread he felt building up in his gut. This one sounded particularly menacing.

“What’s Kralkatorrik like?” he asked.

“Well…” Bohan started, scratching the back of his head. “I’ve never seen it myself, but they say it’s so big, its wings blot out the sun when it flies. And everything in its path turns to crystal. Even the air becomes corrupt.”

“What happened when they tried to kill it?”

“Destiny’s Edge? They lost. One of the members got called away, and another died because of it. Kralkatorrik got away. Then they disbanded, and reformed again years later.”

Asterix tried to play out the scene in his head. A band of warriors, facing a giant dragon of crystal. That was all he had. How would they have done it? What was their strategy? Could one person’s failure to attend have really doomed their mission?

“If Rytlock is here, do you think the other members are too?”

“Probably, yes.”

Asterix thought about it for a moment. If they eventually reunited, then surely they must all be here to fight Mordremoth. “All out to defeat another. Hope they succeed.”

Bohan agreed. “Me too.”

“It’s time to sleep.” Asterix yawned and stretched. “If we want to be awake and aware at dawn.”

The sylvari nodded. “Thanks for not leaving my side.” He slowly began to shuffle his body into his sleeping bag. “You don’t know how much it means to me.”

“We’ll find her…” he yawned again, sinking his weight into Bobbo’s soft belly. He didn’t care about bad dreams this time; he just wanted to be rested for the search. Gods knowing, he was going to need it.


	22. Liar

**Warning: this chapter includes more violent content than previously seen in the rest of the story thus far, and could be viewed as disturbing or inappropriate for younger audiences. Reader discretion is advised.**

**Hi everyone! We're in the middle of a second semi-lockdown in the Netherlands over here. 5 weeks of sitting at home, all public locations are closed and only the essential stores remain open. But at least this means I have time to work on my at-home projects. The vaccine will be here very soon! Until then, please stay indoors as much as you can and stay safe!**

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“Come on, get up. I said get up!”

“Wa—” Asterix groggily rubbed a tired eye. He had woken at least twice overnight. Again, by the same dragon friend that haunted his dreams. He swore, those nightmares became more vivid and real every time he had them. He even began to wonder if one of those Elder Dragons was deliberately pestering him for entertainment.

This time though, he was rudely awakened not by a dragon, but by an impatient sylvari. He had already packed his things, and was now tirelessly prodding and pushing the poor Gaul. The bear received several pokes as well, who responded with an annoyed growl.

“I’m awake, I’m awake. Sheesh…” Asterix groaned. His back ached in discomfort when he sat upright. He must’ve moved and laid on the cold ground for some time. He was going to start his day with one of those bland ration bars, but discovered much to his surprise that his backpack was packed for him already, aside from the sleeping bag he had slept in. The campfire was doused with water. Bohan shot a somewhat irritated glance and tossed him his black tunic, now dry once more, but cold and still smelly.

“Let’s go. We don’t have any time to waste,” he said in an unusually peppy tone as he turned and headed out. The mixture of emotions baffled the Gaul, who was still trying to register what just had happened. Had Bohan just woken himself early just to prepare everything for the next search? Asterix appreciated that he allowed him to sleep while he packed. He would have to return that favor.

But it was still so dark in here. So peaceful. He was still so tired.

He sighed and quickly pulled the tunic over his head, then he woke Bobbo with some pats on the head and a whisper. It took a little while, but the grizzly was eventually convinced and slowly rose to his feet. He rolled up the musty sleeping bag to store it, and before heaving the backpack onto his back, he quickly dug out two ration bars. Taking off the wrapper more easily than he did the first time, he offered a bar to Bobbo, who happily accepted it. The other he would eat while they traveled. He knew one small bar meant to feed a person wouldn’t feed a bear, but Bobbo thankfully had the convenient tendency to scavenge his own food as he followed. He just felt that the bear could use a little boost.

He then wondered if Bohan had eaten yet as well, and decided to take out one more just in case. The bag was heaved onto his back, and he went outside. He was anticipating the sun to blind him in his first step outdoors, so he had a hand raised to block the incoming light.

But that light never came as he walked outside. The moon was hanging low, and he could see the black and blue sky, with indigo hues creeping in from the horizon. Here and there were blobs of smoke reaching to the heaven. And there was a light chill still in the air. It was far too early, but Bohan stood there, impatiently tapping his foot against the ground rhythmically, his folded-up map in hand. The Gaul did _not_ appreciate that they were heading back out at night, when they agreed with going at dawn. The Mordrem were most active at night. But he also understood the reason behind that choice. Time was still of the essence, so he decided not to press the issue. He offered the bar as he caught up with the sylvari instead.

“Did you eat yet?” he asked.

Bohan looked down at the object, at first irritated, but then he took it and faked a smile. “I haven’t, actually. Thanks.”

Asterix smiled back, but recognized the forced grimace on Bohan’s face. He knew the sylvari wanted to find his friend soon, and the stresses of fighting his own kind as well as constantly being painted as a traitor by strangers must have given him a shorter fuse than usual. But he wondered if there was more going on. Pocketing the ration bar as if Asterix wouldn’t notice, the sylvari gazed at the stars, and then unfolded his map. He skimmed it impatiently, and them almost immediately looked back up and pointed towards a direction. “That way,” he said, and started walking in large strides without any time to waste.

He didn’t even bother to read his map. He just somehow knew, but still bothered to try and fake it like he didn’t. _Try._ Asterix still noticed.

“You alright?” the Gaul asked as he quickened his pace to keep up. Bohan hummed and stared at his map, ignoring the question.

“No strange thoughts? Any urges?” he tried again. The sylvari halted and looked at Asterix with obvious shock and betrayal on his face.

“You think I’m turning.”

“I’m only looking out for you,” the Gaul answered honestly. “You’ve been acting strange, and we’re still dealing with a jungle dragon here.”

“You don’t need to remind me. The dragon isn’t important. Liliwen is.”

“The dragon _is_ important,” Asterix stressed. “It might be affecting you without even knowing it.”

“My mind is my own,” Bohan said with a darkness to his voice. “If you don’t trust me, then I’ll go alone.” And the sylvari started walking again. Asterix stood in place for a moment, a bit dumbfounded. His impatient self would indeed let Bohan go alone at this point. All he needed to do was walk back into the cave and wait until morning. Maybe take the extra nap he so craved. Bohan would be gone by the time he was rested, and he would be free to go his own way. Get out of this miserable jungle with its awful mosquitoes and pocket raptors, and least friendly of all those Mordrem.

“Afraid I can’t let you do that,” he grumbled, and pressed on. He was probably just imagining things, he thought to himself. If Bohan really was turning, he probably would have already murdered him in his sleep. It would have taken far less effort than leading him into a trap, that much was certain. Asterix quickened his stride, catching up with the fast-walking sylvari, and made sure to check if Bobbo was also keeping up.

Sometimes it felt like the jungle looked the same everywhere. Perhaps it was because the small group was now exploring it at nearly twice the pace. And it was still dark, so things looked similar much of the time. Asterix noticed that Bohan, while he led on, no longer made zig-zag patterns to cover more ground. Their direction was always the same, leading straight forward, further due south. The thought that they were headed straight toward a dragon worried Asterix.

No, it scared him. There was an unsettling feeling forming deep from the base of his spine and crawling upward slowly. That physical feeling when he knew he was about to do something he was afraid to do. Looking down a cliff, imagining that he could so easily fall, would trigger that feeling too. He had no idea how far away that dragon was still, but he knew that he didn’t want to meet it. But he did wonder what it may look like.

Would it be easy to tell if they met it? Is it just a big traditional winged lizard, or would it be made from plant and bark, like its minions? How big would it be?

Then an even scarier thought crossed his mind. What if they were walking on its back right at this very moment? Would it have noticed them? He shivered and wanted to cast the thoughts away, but the worry continued to gnaw at him. He was surprised they didn’t run into any ambush yet.

As they ventured further south, the nightsky gave way for dawn. _Thank the gods_ , he thought. Daylight. He was glad it didn’t take any longer than he thought it would. He could already hear the earliest morning birds sing, which would soon turn into a cacophony the more joined.

Suddenly, Bohan stopped. The concerned Gaul slowed his pace, staring at the sylvari like he had turned to stone. “What’s wrong?” he inquired.

“Look.” The sylvari bent over, scanning the ground. It was only then that Asterix noticed the tracks. It looked like there had been a fight, or perhaps a struggle. Some of the tracks were small and thin; perhaps someone light on their feet. Then there were many clawed humanoid ones. The enemy’s, obviously. Finally, there were more drag marks and traces of blood. But the blood was red. It came from a fleshy being that wasn’t sylvari. A Mordrem patrol must have caught another victim for one of their horrible blighting trees. When he then looked higher up, he noticed a few Mordrem arrows lodged in the trees.

They had to be careful here.

While he inspected the arrows to determine where they had been shot from, Bobbo inspected the ground with his nose. He wondered if the bear’s sense of smell was as keen as a canine’s, or if he was just looking for more grubs in the earth. Bohan picked up a lone dagger off the ground, recognizing the pattern on its handle. Its blade was broken off, and the blood on the piece of that was left was muddy and discolored. The sand stuck to it like a glue.

“It’s hers,” he exclaimed, raising the knife up to his face. “Look!” he yelled as he turned toward Asterix. “She’s here!”

“Quiet,” Asterix hissed, startled by Bohan’s racket. “The tracks are fresh. They might hear us.”

But Bohan, yet again, did not listen. Instead he bounded recklessly toward where the tracks headed, calling for her name.

“Bohan, wait!”

Forced to give chase, he called for Bobbo to heel. The bear followed, and Bohan had already vanished between the bushes. Asterix tried to listen as he traced the tracks leading further away, but he heard no voices. Only the rustling of the leaves he swatted away as he came crashing through them. Finally, he found him again, in an entirely new open piece of glade.

“You’re nuts!” he gasped as he tried to catch his breath. When he was yet again met with no response, he began to get angry. That is, until he noticed what Bohan saw.

Mordrem. A small company of four who had been dragging a fresh victim to their blighting tree.

And she was there, with those other three.

It was still easy to distinguish her from the Mordrem they’ve seen before, like she were a fresh recruit. Her leafy fronds on her head in place of hair still had their deep blue ocean color, but they were withering and flaking off. Her originally pine green skin was in the process of forming itself to become bark, tough and grey-beige, losing color. Her face, of all things, was the only thing still the same. When she looked at them, she smiled, surprised.

“Bohan? You’re really here!” she laughed childishly. “I was almost beginning to wonder if you would ever find me.”

That was all the confirmation Asterix needed. This was indeed Liliwen. _Was._ She looked at him too, and had a smile on her face, surprised to see him as well. It looked so genuine, so _her_ , it was almost enough to convince him she may be still in there, deep inside. But it was a farce. Fake. The creature had her personality, but Liliwen was long gone. Even Bobbo knew not to trust it, and he rumbled a growl as the fur on his back stood upright.

Bohan, he stood still. Staring at Liliwen, his own coloration turned pale, nearly white. He didn’t want to believe it. Then, like thunder, it crashed down on him, and he fell to his knees and started to wail.

 _“Monster!”_ he cried. “You _promised!_ You _promised_ she’d be okay!”

It took time to settle, but then with shock, Asterix realized who he was screaming at. He did listen to Mordremoth. He was following it, chasing empty promises that the beast fed him. That’s why he was suddenly so sure about his directions. It was the dragon all along.

Liliwen grinned. “I don’t know what you mean. I feel fantastic!” She laughed, and then approached them. Bobbo started baring his fangs at the Mordrem that closed in, and Asterix pulled the straps of his backpack to drop it to the ground. He drew out his sword and revolver without asking any questions, which only made Bohan withdraw further. He did not want to kill her. Anything but that!

“Liliwen…” he sobbed quietly. “Please…”

“Come Bohan.” She gave the other sylvari a soft smile and reached out her hand towards him. “You don’t have to be alone. Please, join me.”

Bohan stared at her beckoning hand with small, tearful eyes. He wanted to stand up and take her hand. “…I…”

A short pang suddenly interrupted the scene, and Liliwen cried out when she was struck in her shoulder by the bullet. She gripped at the wound and bled golden sap. Bohan immediately knew who. He turned and watched the smoke bellow from Asterix’s gun.

“Don’t listen to her,” he warned. “She’s already gone.” Deep inside Bohan knew that.

_But how could he?_

_“You…_ After everything I did to help you,” Liliwen snarled at the Gaul. She drew her dagger, the twin to the broken one, and shouted. “Mordremoth is infinite. You’ll join him too!”

After her war cry, the other three Mordrem guard jumped in as well, joining Liliwen in the assault. The bear charged them first, fangs biting and claws swiping as he began his frenzy against the enemy. Asterix and Bohan looked for a mere second at each other.

“I’m really sorry…” said the Gaul at the sylvari, grieving the choice he was making. He broke eye contact to join Bobbo in fending the Mordrem off. Bohan knew he was expected to help them. He looked at his axe hanging from his belt, and then at the skirmish happening in front of him.

 _Asterix is right_ , he told himself, taking the hatchet into his hand. Liliwen had to be dealt with now. It was better for her. The quicker, the more merciful. But his feet refused to move. His hand unwilling to take action. He was frozen in place, unable to think straight. Doubt gnawed at him. He could only watch.

Bobbo was holding well on his own, already overwhelming the weaker two of the Mordrem, slamming down one and crushing its head underneath his paw while batting away another forcefully with his other. Before the second Mordrem could stand up, Bobbo was already onto the victim, mauling. Meanwhile, Asterix was dealing with the third, taking on a hulking creature wielding a hammer carved from stone. Its head was his size and three times his weight, but he slipped past each swing just barely, striking the behemoth with swift jabs each time he met the opportunity. While he fought, Liliwen came up behind the Gaul without him noticing, smiling wickedly when she grabbed him and forced him down to the ground. Asterix, taken by surprise, felt the air get knocked out of him when he hit the ground. His sword slipped out of his hand. He was pinned down by Liliwen, sword out of reach, and he could only stare at her murderous, manic face.

“Hush now, don’t scream,” she whispered, raising the dagger to bring it down.

As if called by the gods, the great grizzly roared and came up from behind Liliwen before she could bring the blade down, clamping his jaws down on the Mordrem’s bleeding shoulder. She screamed and struggled, and plunged the dagger into Bobbo’s neck multiple times in a panic. But it was too late. Teeth dug down deep, the bear lifted himself up on his hind legs, raising her into the air, and he started to shake her violently like a rag. Asterix rolled away as quick as he could to avoid getting caught in the onslaught. The violence went on for several seconds, until Bobbo could no longer go on and he let out a pained moan.

He and Liliwen both suddenly went limp like ragdolls, and the bear toppled over. They dropped to the ground with a resounding thud. The final Mordrem was caught under Bobbo’s bulk and his own hammer. The bear’s weight pressed the hammer’s handle down on his throat, squeezing the windpipe until finally, he too stopped the struggle.

Shocked and disbelieving, the Gaul stared out at the pile of bodies. It all happened so soon, and the fight was already over. He could barely grasp a thought or recollection. He felt the adrenaline burn so hotly still.

“Why didn’t you help?” he suddenly snapped, turning towards Bohan. Immediately he regretted saying that. He couldn’t control the tone of his voice and the question was blurted out with obvious anger. But the sylvari ignored him. Yet again.

“Liliwen…” he whimpered. Slowly, he shuffled his way toward the bodies, straining like an old man. Nothing else mattered to him anymore. “Oh, Liliwen…” He pulled her from the dead animal’s maw and held the limp body toward him. “Why did you run ahead? We were supposed to stick together…” he whimpered, and he gently stroked her wilting hair. “Look at you now.”

Ashamed, Asterix urged himself to look away, almost feeling unwell from witnessing the scene. He knew, Liliwen was no longer Liliwen after she had turned. But it felt like they killed her all the same. Killed a friend.

And poor Bobbo… Margrit loved him so. All he did was defend him…

But the mourning had to wait, when suddenly, the voice from last night came back. A tremor shook him out of his stupor. When he started looking around, the Gaul saw the trees around him bending and shaking, creaking and actually forming words as the ground underneath them shook and heaved, like taking a deep breath. Terrified by the violence, he forced himself to the ground and prayed nothing would fall on him. He heard words he couldn’t understand, but he could tell they were words. It was unnatural. Trees did not speak!

Mordremoth spoke.

“Don’t listen to it!” he called out to Bohan, but his voice was drowned out by the dragon’s. The sylvari did not see what happened around him. He only could look down at Liliwen’s frozen face. He did not feel the tremors, only her pale cheek against his fingertips.

Then it all calmed down. The jungle went silent.

“You’re right, it…it doesn’t have to be this way,” Bohan laughed to himself quietly. “It’s alright. It is fine.”

Asterix, still shaken, rose to his feet. The tremors had gone, but he still felt the shaking in his legs. “Bohan,” he tried to call again.

“You can fix her. Everything can go back the way it used to be. And…we’ll be together again. All I have to do is…”

“Don’t do this.” The Gaul made a step back.

“…give in.”

Bohan stood up, dropping the body carelessly like an unimportant bag of sand. When he turned to face Asterix, he showed no expression. He took his hatchet into his hand.

“It’s okay, don’t feel bad. You can be part of it too. Mordremoth doesn’t discriminate.” Bohan squeezed the grip of the axe and his face curled into a twisted smile. “We’ll all be together. He unites us.”

Asterix took another step back. Bohan made two steps forward. He had hoped that Mordremoth’s betrayal towards Bohan would have strengthened his resolve, that he would have blamed the dragon and resisted harder. But it seemed he had given up instead. He accepted the call, and there was only so much Asterix could do to pull him back before he was completely gone. He didn’t want to kill the sylvari, that was the last thing he wanted.

“You’ve got to snap out of it, Bohan,” he begged. He quickly picked up his sword as he worked to make distance. And yet still the manic sylvari drew closer. When the two locked eyes, Asterix noticed the expression on the sylvari change into a terrifying, smug look of a sadistic killer. That was when he realized it was all over for Bohan. He was gone.

He was afraid to break the eye contact. Yet that face scared him.

And just like that, Asterix was alone. Facing an enemy he didn’t want to fight. Bohan looked so proud, to see his victim squirm and stumble away. So proud to be part of this new ‘great purpose’. He knew his enemy hesitated, and he enjoyed every moment of it.

“I only want you to take part in Mordremoth’s plan, Asterix.” Bohan raised the hatchet to his face, breaking eye contact to look at the blade with fascination. “You won’t be dead long, I promise,” he taunted as he tested the edge’s sharpness with his finger.

“I’d rather be dead than a dragon’s puppet,” the Gaul spat. Seeing his chance, he immediately went into a sprint toward the Mordrem, throwing all his weight into the charge. He shouted the best war cry he could muster, hoping to take Bohan by surprise. And it worked. The Mordrem convert had little chance to react. He swiped the axe blindly in hopes he’d hit the attacker. But it was the sword that made contact first. Bohan cried out in pain and anger when it bored itself into his shoulder.

The axe sliced Asterix next, and the pain came sudden and fierce. He didn’t know yet where or how deep, the only thought he could collect was of dread and terror. He couldn’t die now, not here! His body then collided into the enemy, forcing them both to the ground. He rolled for a bit, and when he stopped, all he wanted was to locate the pain.

It was his chest, _Gods, don’t let it be true._ He tossed himself over to sit up and see the wound. His old tunic had a terrible rip, and he saw a thin line of red form underneath. The cut was shallow, but long. It wouldn’t be enough to kill him outright. Suddenly he realized he was missing his sword again.

“You _jerk!”_ cried a frustrated sylvari. Asterix scrambled to his feet while he watched Bohan look at him furiously. His shoulder had the extinguished blade lodged into it, bleeding the same golden sap over his longcoat. He growled and hissed when he grabbed the sword by the grip, setting it ablaze once more, and pulled it out. Now the sylvari had one useless arm, but he had his sword. He started to approach him like a maddened zombie, making animalistic grunts and gasps. Asterix took out his revolver next, still loaded with bullets, and pulled the gun’s hammer down and aimed. If he went for the head, he would stop him.

The first shot hit the ground far behind the approaching enemy. He cursed and tried again. The second hit Bohan in his stomach, but he still walked. The warrior began to panic at this point, and unloaded all of his remaining ammo into the Mordrem. It was slowing him down, but he still approached, now looking much worse.

 _“Just die!”_ they both cried at each other in sync. In a bout of frustration, Asterix threw the empty gun at the still approaching Mordrem, only for it to hit the ground uselessly.

Then the idea hit him, and he hurriedly rushed for his dropped backpack and opened it.

 _Where is it? Where is it?!_ He frantically searched, noticing Bohan closing in from the corner of his eye.

“There!”

He snatched the page and shook it until it unfolded itself and placed it down on the ground. Bohan was no more than eight feet away from him, and he started to clumsily swing the sword around in a fit of rage. The Gaul could nearly feel the heat singe his hair. It was now or never.

He pressed two fingers down onto the signet, then grasped the paper up and held it aloft, pretending it was a shield. He waited, fear gripping his throat as each second went by that he waited. Then there was a sudden and powerful reaction. It felt like thunder coursing through him, but not actually striking or hurting him. He shut his eyes tight out of impulse. The signet’s sketches lit up, and as if it were Taranis striking his fury upon them, an ear deafening explosion rang through their ears, and the flash was so bright he could see the light shine through his eyelids.

Dazed, he dropped the page. Or did it disintegrate? He couldn’t feel it in his hands anymore. It was simply gone.

In fact, he felt nothing at all. Not even when his hands hit the ground when he nearly collapsed.

Slowly he recollected his thoughts. He wasn’t dead. He could tell by the loud ringing in his ears and the nausea. The sting that still lingered on his chest, now dull. Between the panic, he was grateful that he closed his eyes. That spell would have rendered him completely vulnerable if he didn’t. His sight was only a little woozy when he let his eyes flutter open again.

Bohan did not close his eyes. Or he tried, but he was too late. Asterix looked at him, kneeled down on the ground, wailing. Blind. Deaf. He had dropped the sword.

Slowly, Asterix picked himself up, approaching Bohan. He then took his sword back into his hand, and tried to ignore the torturous cries.

“I’m so sorry,” he grieved, and his blade struck the Mordrem directly in the head, between his eyes. In an instant, Bohan’s face became peaceful. Life left his eyes.

No more pain. All was quiet.

Exhausted, he let the sword slip out of his hand after he pulled it out. It dropped into the sand with a dull clatter as the flames went back to sleep. Bohan’s body lay slumped nearby.

He wanted to go home. But he didn’t deserve it.

Not after this.

He just sat there for a while, broken. He had just done something unforgivable, but knew he had no other choice. He didn’t even know the man that long, but he was so sure of it. Bohan couldn’t possibly falter to Mordremoth… yet he did. Both he and Liliwen did. He watched it happen.

As his hearing returned to normal, he heard small pained whimpers. Turning to see where it came from, he saw Bobbo trying to rise to his feet, and slumping back down when his strength faltered. “Oh no.” He already felt the pain and guilt build up to reach his limits; tears forming behind his eyelids. What if he had to end his suffering too? He anxiously rushed to the bear, trying to gauge his injuries.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Asterix muttered while he gently stroked the grizzly’s bloody matted fur. He couldn’t see the wounds underneath his thick coat. Couldn’t even part the fur to reveal them in fear that the blood would flow quicker. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Bobbo, get up…” He tried to push the animal a little so that he would try to stand up again, but the bear simply huffed a miserable moan, after which, Asterix repeated right after him, sobbing.

“You can’t die too. I promised…”

Cut off by the sound of rustling, Asterix turned carefully to look behind him. He prayed, please, let them be allies. He saw something he hadn’t yet seen before. Not up close.

A giant frog the size of a man, colored blue like the sky, and standing on two long and thin legs, gazed at him with huge bulbous red eyes. It was wearing tribe-like leather clothing, and held a bow and arrow in its strange hands. Perhaps it was weary of him, or perhaps it was an opportunist, about to kill him for food. It broke eye contact with Asterix to look at the scene around it, and seemed like it tried to replay the scene in its head from visual cues alone. Mordrem bodies were strewn all across, golden and crimson blood staining the ground, and there, in the center of the glade, two survivors, cowering and dreading the fact it had found them here. Realizing this, the creature gently lowered itself to a squat to place the bow and arrow on the ground.

Feeling a little hopeful again, Asterix’s tensed posture relaxed a tiny bit. His hand shakily slipped as he took a breath.

Finally, the frog-man began to speak a language the Gaul has never heard before. It sounded like a mixture of gibberish, croaking, and odd, throaty noises. Asterix stayed quiet, unsure of what to do. When the frog didn’t get an answer back, it tried hard to formulate its words into a language he could understand.

“Do you understand me?” it asked slowly.

“Y—Yes, I do now,” Asterix stammered back slightly.

“Do, you, need help?”

“Yes…” It surprised him how quick he was to answer. He didn’t even bother to think. He _needed_ help. Bobbo needed help. That was all he cared about now.


	23. Jaka Itzel

**Hi guys! This chapter is a little shorter than usual. The reasoning behind it is that the timing for ending the chapter would have been awkward. However, the chapter after it will be longer. Actually, he previous one was longer as well, counting nearly 5000 words. 1000 more than the average I usually shoot for. Regardless I hope you will enjoy this smaller chapter—though not too small—as we continue our story in the Maguuma Jungle.**

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The rain was a welcoming relief. Although it was soft, its scent penetrated the smog and cleared it all away. The sound was just as relieving, each large drop of water striking against the leaves and the roof made from branches and dried clay like tiny drums.

He had been resting in their guest hut; his mind still muddled with the images of what had occurred well over a day ago. He remembered the frog creature, who promised to come back for the bear and Asterix’s stuff, after he was safe. He turned his head to look at Bobbo, his sight slanted while he laid sideways on a bed of dry leaves.

Bobbo was sleeping. His breathing was slow, but stable. The bandages, also made from long thin and dried leaves, were discolored from dry blood. It was a miracle that an artery wasn’t severed in the flurry of stabs in his neck. When they retrieved him, they immediately applied a thick salve made from herbs, plucked from the jungle itself. They did the same for the Gaul’s cut. It stung, but gods, did the stuff work well. However, it was undeniably going to become another scar to add to an ever-growing collection.

They assured him afterwards that they had burned all of the bodies from the scene. The best and possibly only way to make sure nothing was left of them. It was perhaps also the only thing he felt good about. Knowing that Mordremoth couldn’t reuse them for its sick purpose anymore. Yet, everything else about the event pressed on his mind like a dull but persistent headache.

The first frog being he met, who addressed himself as Ibli, was a member of the Itzel tribe. Asterix never would have believed that a village, some semblance of society, could ever exist in this place. Yet here he was, as their guest. They had lived in the jungle for many centuries, building huts high up in the trees and connecting them together with vine-woven bridges. They didn’t know of the dragon back then. Mordremoth had only become active recently. But now they fought the Mordrem invasions every night to defend their only home. It felt strangely nostalgic, but only in a sickeningly twisted way.

Out here, every night, people died.

Occasionally, a drop of rain slipped through the cracks of the ceiling, and he watched it fall and hit the floor, made of woven branches, the gaps of which were filled with clay and decorated with colorful paintings. But he didn’t even care how they built the village. The simplicity of a mere drop of water fascinated him far more. A serene little bead, suddenly meeting its end so unexpectedly as it collided. Yet that floor was there all along.

He shook his head. With a huff, he decided he had enough of weather watching and stood up to take a long stretch. He wanted to cast those depressing thoughts away, knowing there was no time to mourn. Not here. It’s not safe.

He wasn’t going to be useless either. He gave Bobbo a very gentle pat on the head and whispered a promise in the animal’s ear that he’d come back. Bobbo’s response was a loud sleepy sigh, but it reassured Asterix that he still lived and was doing okay, all things considered.

It was the first time that he left the hut since he came here. The raindrops that hit his skin were chilling and made shivers run down his spine, but they also made him feel more grounded and alive than when he was indoors the whole time, lost and numb. The shock from what happened was still strong, but he was slowly recovering and beginning to understand that he was going to have to move on, for now. He started walking at a slow pace as he observed the villagers attending to their daily commute.

“Can I help with anything?” Asterix asked one of the bypassing frog-men, holding a woven basket filled with exotic fruit. The creature gave him an odd look and kept on walking. Right, most of them didn’t even speak or understand his language. The only ones he knew who did would be Ibli, and the village’s Kaana, otherwise known as the chieftain. Unfortunately, many of the Itzel looked so similar, it was hard sometimes for him to tell them apart. Then, he started to notice that the Itzel he tried to communicate with placed the basket down next to many more. He saw another one of them, also carrying a basket, bringing it to the same place. It seemed like they were moving their harvest to a safer area of the village.

_Then that’s what I’ll do._

He followed the two Itzel as they walked back again. He couldn’t shake the idea that it must be awkward for them to be watched and followed by a stranger. Although thankfully, he noted, not out of ill intent. As he expected, past two of the bridges connecting the platforms of the village together, was another food storage. Both the Itzel that he followed each lifted a basket, and began to carry their load to the new storage area. While he approached the stack, he realized how mistaken he was to believe he could carry one of those large baskets by himself. Though they were built from woven plant fiber, they were each filled to the brim with either fresh fruit or giant grubs. Embarrassed, he attempted to pick up one of the smaller ones instead, but struggled to even lift that.

“Gods, come on!” He tried one more time to get the basket to lift off the ground. The Itzel were so slender and thin, but they were stronger than he had given them credit for. Finally, he gave up and let out an angry sigh. The villagers surrounding him gave him an odd look, but they understood that he wasn’t trying to steal anything. He liked to believe at least.

“Can’t even carry supplies… I really shouldn’t be here.”

“Can I help you with that?” another villager nearby questioned, who also spoke his words. Those words felt like they were taunting him, mocking his attempts to help when he was in fact the one who needed it, but he was sure that it—they, didn’t intend it that way. He stopped and looked at the frog-being, still unable to discern their gender, even by voice. They carried a rather stuffed looking, large bag in their hand.

“No. I, uh… I was actually the one trying to help,” he sighed. He eyed the basket again for a new attempt.

“You are weak, but the reason you are weak is not what you think,” the villager explained. “How long have you been out there?”

“Out where?” Asterix asked, feigning ignorance while he tried to lift the basket again. He just wanted to avoid answering.

“In the wilderness, of course.”

The basket dropped, and he exhaled a defeated breath. “A few days…”

“Then you have been fighting for your survival that long. Your body is strained and weakened. You should rest.”

“I’ve been resting since I got here,” the Gaul retorted. “I’m really not tired.”

The creature then mused in response, folding their arms. “Hmm… I suppose if you’re feeling well enough, then… Ah,” they piped up. “I have an idea. Why not come patrol the village with me?”

Asterix looked up at the Itzel villager. Patrolling the village… He knew it really was just a lie to have him take a stroll around town rather than actually do any labor. He couldn’t possibly make the leaps they made. He saw how they patrolled. The Itzel had these outposts; just branches that were high up to serve as a vantage point. They jumped to them to scan the area below, then jumped down and walked to the next. Sometimes, they even made a leap to the next point, skipping the walk entirely. He would just be forced to sit there, waiting for them to come back down. Then again… maybe the creature was right. Maybe he just needed to stretch his legs, instead of potentially overtaxing himself by doing work.

“Alright. I’ll come with you.”

The two began their walk. First was the town center – really not that big of a site. Five bridges to different areas connected to it, but there was only room for twenty of the Itzel members on the platform at a time, at best. Even that was stretching it. From this location, the Itzel could easily access their various storages containing simple resources, including weaponry, food, and other tools that made life a bit easier for them.

“Why are your people so friendly to strangers?” He had to ask. The Gaul couldn’t imagine this friendliness just came out of nowhere.

“The jungle provides. Your friends helped us when we needed it most, and we show our gratitude by returning the favor.”

Friends… oh, they must have meant the Pact. After all, the enemy of their enemy would be their friend. It was a good thing. The more against the dragons, the better, he assured himself.

“I’m glad you found allies in the fight against Mordremoth,” he noted to the Itzel. “It must be hard, getting attacked and losing people every night…”

“It is… Mordremoth is a blight upon Ameyalli, and the world. If the Pact really can defeat it, we must help however we can.” The Itzel creature crouched down to build up a spring in their step, and suddenly leaped high into the sky to land on a nearby branch. Asterix’s tilted his head sideways in question as he stared up at them, awaiting their return.

“Ameyalli?”

“You know her best as the jungle,” they called back down, before they prepared to come back down again after inspecting the surroundings. Something Asterix did not expect, was when the Itzel villager suddenly sprouted glittering wings from nowhere, hopping from the branch and gliding back down with grace.

“Wait, what was that?” Asterix gawked, staggered. Upon closer inspection though, he realized those wings weren’t actually real. They were masterfully built from fiber and branches, designed to catch air as the user fell to slow their fall. The invention detached itself from the villager, and they folded it back up into a neat little package.

The frog-creature stored that package back into the bag and grinned. “That’s my glider. We use them to slow our fall and sometimes reach places otherwise unreachable.”

“Amazing!”

“We can give you one. We’ve been sharing how to make them with the Pact. I’m sure we’ll have one extra to spare.”

Huh? _Give_ him one? Surely there was no need for that. He didn’t plan on remaining in the jungle.

“Oh, thank you. But I think I’m okay.” The Gaul said, not wanting to waste their precious resources. “It’s not like I’ll be staying here much longer.”

“Oh?”

“Well, er… no offense to you. Your hospitality means a whole lot to us… But I’m not actually a Pact member. I’m not supposed to be here.”

The Itzel let the bag with the glider down to hang from their hand again. “I see. You must have had a good reason to come all the way out here.”

Asterix nodded wistfully. “Yeah, I used to…”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hey big guy, dinner is here,” the Gaul announced as he reentered the guest hut, carrying a small abundance of various exotic fruits in his arms. They all were meant for Bobbo, but while the Itzel insisted for him to take some for himself, he simply wasn’t hungry, or eager to find out what some of them may taste like. “Come on, these will be good for you.” He dropped the pile to the floor in front of the bear’s nose and began to wake him with some careful nudges and repeating his name a few times. The bear woke, blinking the heavy sleep out of his eyes and letting out a long yawn.

While Asterix took a good look at the bandages, it seemed like Bobbo was already returning to his old self, albeit slow. The bear was eager to sniff at the powerfully scented fruit, and soon he raised his head to reach out and dig in. The Gaul was well aware however that the animal was still not in good shape enough to do much. Taking good care of him was the least Asterix could do. He had to get him home somehow.

And then? He didn’t know yet what then. The warrior sat down beside the bear, petting him while he considered his options. He wanted more than anything else to be back in Gaul. He wished that this was all but an overly lengthy, overly detailed nightmare, and that he would soon awaken and have forgotten all of it. But that was no option.

“Hey, I know you,” a voice said. Asterix’s helm-wings flicked up and he shifted his somber gaze at the direction the voice came from. It was her. The charr officer from the first camp they visited. She looked at him with the same judgmental green eyes, then she noted his expression and lack of friends. She raised her head and looked around the hut. “What happened? Where’s your friend?”

“We…” Asterix paused to swallow his remaining dignity. “You were right… We found her, and she was turned. We had to kill her.” He felt pitiful. Ashamed and stupid for not listening. He knew deep inside that he tried his best, but in the end, the dragon was simply too strong. He should have realized that.

“And the sylvari you were with? Where is he?”

He looked away. “Gone too. He turned not long after.”

“Ah…” There was a small pause. “I’m so sorry for that.” The charr’s voice wasn’t cold or hollow. She was genuinely sympathetic, and didn’t bother to remind him that she had warned him what would happen. It was something he could appreciate, but at the same time he felt that he deserved a scolding. “It’s still not too late for you,” she instead suggested. “Our chopper can take you as far as Rata Sum. Then you can go home from there.”

Go home. Did he even deserve to? The only place close to a home was Margrit’s stead. Sure, he missed her and Dogmatix right now. He missed the coziness of her house and how it would always be warm and pleasantly smelling of tea herbs, coal, ink and oaken wood. The perfect contrast to the cool winter air of the Shiverpeak Mountains. But crawling back to her, a failure – when she too had warned him so? When she had embraced him and begged him to stay safe. How would she react to see him come home defeated? How would she react if she saw her dear animal companion, who she entrusted Asterix with, beaten up like this?

He didn’t just fail Margrit either. He failed Liliwen, and Bohan. They both died because he let it happen. Their efforts were for nothing. The entire sylvari race would continue to suffer under Mordremoth’s choking grip. Either until they give in and serve it, or the Pact kills the dragon and ends the war.

The Elder Dragons are not invincible. They killed one before and they can do it again. And by Toutatis, he was going to witness Mordremoth fall. Maybe he was making an unwise decision, but he was done being indecisive. Done being a bystander.

The charr had turned around, her back facing him as she looked at the rain. “Well, you’ll know where to go. My squad is moving out soon, so I trust you’ll find your way to camp alone.”

“No,” he said.

The charr perked her ears and hummed questioningly. “Hm?”

“I’m not ready to go home,” Asterix responded. Her head turned to face him, her expression confused.

“Your organization, the Pact… you fight dragons, right?”

“Fighting dragons is what we do best,” the feline answered, fangs showing as she smirked.

“We all want Mordremoth dead,” Asterix continued. “If you’ll have me, then I’ll serve the Pact.”

The charr stared for a moment, her smile fading in an instant. Asterix expected her to start laughing next after her bewilderment. Why didn’t she? He was far from what the Pact might seek in a potential recruit. Instead she was pursing her lips slightly, raising her paw to scratch her chin with two clawed fingers, and mused to herself for a moment, considering the offer.

“We do need all the manpower we can get,” she admitted finally. “Small and helpless as you may seem, you _did_ survive this long with just a small company. You’re brave and you have the smarts, but you’re obviously untrained and underprepared.”

The Gaul chose not to comment. She was absolutely right in her observations. He watched the charr pace around a bit, pondering the offer. He was surprised she would even consider it, let alone watch her stop closely in front of him and give him a sudden stern glare, like a real superior would to her underlings. White fangs glinted again between her lips as she began to growl.

“You will address me as Captain Blademaw. As long as you’re under my command you will follow my every order and never question them. Am I clear?”

Not expecting Blademaw to accept his offer, Asterix struggled a bit to get up and correct his posture, giving her the answer she wanted to hear. “Yes, Captain.”

“Then give me your name, recruit.”

“Asterix, sir.”

“Asterix _what?_ ” She wasn’t questioning it so much as she was demanding something. She wanted his last name.

He didn’t really have a last name; not to his knowledge. He figured that if he had to make one up right on the spot, he might as well choose one that he knew he would remember.

“Asterix the Gaul, sir!”

The charr looked unamused by his lack of confidence as he outed the words, but she nodded and accepted the name. “Good. You will be with my squad. Don’t get separated if you want to live.”

“Yessir. There’s one more thi—”

She interrupted him quickly and silently, staring him down with a wide-eyed angry gaze. Suddenly he realized, and he immediately corrected himself. “Permission to speak, sir?”

Blademaw’s features relaxed again, this time with a hint of an impish smile. “Just teasing. I’m not _that_ strict. Permission granted.”

“I have an… uh, injured pet bear.” He pointed at the animal behind him devouring his meal. “He shouldn’t stay here. Can he be brought back to Hoelbrak, to his owner? I need to send a message with him too.”

Of course the bear couldn’t stay. He belonged back with his owner. It’s perhaps a bit dishonest, to not bring him back in person. But admittedly, Asterix was just a _little_ bit scared of how Margrit might react if he came back to her together with an injured Bobbo. He just hoped she wasn’t going to rip him to shreds later, if he still lives…

Blademaw nodded her head. “We’ll get something sorted out.”


End file.
